


Learn to Fly

by StardustAndAsh



Series: To Seek a Bird [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Quest: In Your Heart Shall Burn, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, In Hushed Whispers, Slow Burn, Warrior Lavellan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-05-14 02:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 64,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5726467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StardustAndAsh/pseuds/StardustAndAsh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wren Lavellan might have run away from her clan to see the conclave first hand, which might have been a terrible idea given the outcome. While mastering swordplay and politics in the new Inquisition, she searches for who (or what) caused the breach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Wren wasn’t sure what she was expecting to wake up to. Normally it would be a bedroll and the sound of Clan Lavellan. More recently it would have been the bed at a random inn along the road, smelling of stale beer and unwashed human. This was a new one for her, as Wren was fairly certain her hands were bound and there were stones digging into her knees. She strained to remember what had happened. There had been the conclave, Wren had snuck into the Temple of Sacred Ashes with a group of mages, unaccompanied by Templars, who favouring hooded robes. Easy enough to find a similar garment and fit into the group. She had gone into the temple, and then nothing. Had she passed out somewhere? Did the talks go favourably and she had perhaps celebrated a bit too much? Wren strained her mind to remember when a burst of pain lit a patch of fire in her palm and burned up her arm.

Opening her eyes the first thing she saw was the eerie green glow crackling in her hand. Freaky. It wasn’t long before two human women began interrogating her. One, the redhead, Wren was fairly certain was called Leliana, the other wore the symbol of the Seekers. At least they were both beautiful as well as terrifying, as Wren was beyond confused at what they were saying. The Temple of Sacred Ashes couldn’t just be gone, along with hundreds of mages and the Chantry’s own Divine. That kind of thing just didn’t happen, or at least, not outside of a dream. The Orlesian one disappeared when it was clear that Wren wasn’t going to be divulging the information that they wanted to hear. Wren herself would have liked a bit more information herself. Mainly about where she was and what in the name of Fen’Harel’s hairy dick was going on.

Outside was a mess, and convinced her she was in a dream. There was a giant green hole in the sky and that’s about as much as her mind would process besides the pain in her hand and the warrior’s strong grip on her arm. Then the rift, breach, whatever it was glowed brighter and pain ripped through Wren in a burning wave, sending her to her knees. Too much pain for it to really be a dream.

“Each time the breach expands, the mark spreads. And it is killing you,” the Seeker sounded almost regretful about it. “It may be the key to stopping this.”

“Then I will do what I can. Whatever it takes,” said Wren.

 Wren was led by the Seeker through a village of tents and angry looking people. Faces turned to her with expressions of hatred wherever Wren looked. It was disconcerting, but Wren put on her bravest and calmest face as she walked by, not blinking as snow and ash blew into her eyes and tossed her short auburn hair into her vision. As much as she might want to yell at them that whatever they thought about her was wrong, it wouldn’t help her case. They marched through a snow covered gate and began the trek up towards the gaping hole in the sky.

“Maker, It’s the end of the world!” cried a soldier in full armour as a group sprinted past Wren and the Seeker.

Wren wished she could have followed them, but she had promised to see if she could help, and that’s what she was going to do.  What would she do if she ran away now anyway? Cowering as the world crumbled under the weight of demons wasn’t very likely. No, she’d find a sword and cut her way through as many demons as possible before the world ended. Die fighting, like Keeper Istimaethoriel always warned her. It would be sooner rather than later by the looks of the sky and the chaos on the mountain. As they reached the top of the ridge the breach grew once more, lighting the sky and ripping at Wren’s hand. The pain made her stumble and fall, knees bruising on the rocks buried under a thin layer of trampled snow. The Seeker steadied her and helped her to her feet, large hands swallowing Wren’s thin shoulders.

“The pulses are coming quicker now,” said the Seeker.

‘ _Joy_ ,’ thought Wren.

There was another gated bridge up ahead. They passed through the first iced gateway onto the slippery cobblestones without much more than a nod from the soldiers who were manning the gate’s mechanisms. The two made their way across the bridge before a pulse, or explosion but Wren couldn’t tell, ripped through the bridge and sent her and the Seeker and stone tumbling down onto the frozen river. Wren was glad to see the ice was thick enough to hold the weight of the bridge’s collapse and not send them to a very cold and unpleasant death. Wren had no love of water, the boat ride from the Free Marches had been quite possibly one of the worst things she had to endure.

Her thoughts weren’t occupied by the river for long. As soon as she oriented herself she was aware of the Seeker charging off against…. Were those demons? There was no other explanation that came to mind for the creatures before her, so filled with wrongness. One burst up out of nothing in front of her and Wren looked frantically for a weapon, anything to defend herself with. There! On the body of one of the poor guards, his head smashed beneath an errant stone was a greatsword. Wren dodged the demon’s lunge and rolled, grabbing the sword as she stood. Heavier than her own elvhen made blade, but Creators knew where that had gone.  Lost in the explosion most likely. Not the thing to be worrying about when a creature from the fade was bearing down on her. She slashed her way through the demon, glad that her boots gripped the ice instead of sliding out from under her. Soon enough it fell, and so did the one the Seeker had engaged.

“Drop your weapon!” demanded the Seeker.

Wren thought that would be a bad plan, but the way the woman was glaring at her, and the sword pointed at her neck said if she disagreed it would not go well.

“All right,” said Wren warily, making to put the greatsword down.

“Wait,” the woman sheathed her sword with a sigh. “I cannot protect you, and I cannot expect you to be defenceless. I should remember you agreed to come willingly.”

Wren wasn’t sure how willing she could be when she was trapped in chains in a prison cell with agreeing to help as her only option. Done with the conversation, the Seeker turned around and began climbing up the mountain path once more. It occurred to Wren then to ask her name. She was sure she hearth the other human mention her name, but Wren was more than a little disoriented when she had woken up in a prison cell instead of a bed.

“Excuse me, but I don’t even know your name,” said Wren.

The woman paused in her tracks and made a disgusted noise before turning around.

“Why should my name matter?”

“Well, end of the world right? I should probably know who I am spending it with,” said Wren with one of her half-grins.

“I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast of Nevarra,” said Cassandra curtly.

“Well met, Seeker Cassandra,” said Wren, as was polite and hoped it was a way to get the scary warrior woman to soften towards her a bit.

The woman made another disgusted noise and kept going. Wren’s heart sank. It was not looking good for her. The question of what would happen to her after closing the hole in the sky –barring the very real possibility of death or failure- was not looking positive. Maybe if she succeeded she wouldn’t be locked away in a cold dungeon for the rest of her life and only a good portion of it.

After running into a few more demons Cassandra led her up a set of snow covered stairs and smack into a smaller version of the big green hole in the sky. Only this hole was glowing ominously just above her eye level and spitting out demons left and right. Not only that but there were people all around it that the demons were attacking. Without hesitating Wren launched herself at the demons, her sword whirling as she spun like a dancer in order to hit multiple enemies at once. It was one of her favourite tricks. The weight of the sword overbalanced her a little, but she quickly recovered before hacking at a demon bearing down on a dwarf with a strange crossbow.

Wren barely had time to catch her breath after dispatching the last demon when suddenly another elf, tall and bald, grabbed her wrist and jammed her hand straight into the glowing, green, demon-spitting rift. Fenhedis it hurt! The mark on her hand was drawing something, her life, her energy, from her and using it to do something to the rift. It was successful, and the rift shut with a deafening bang. Wren snatched her hand back, rubbing her tender wrist and examining the mark. It had grown again, reaching across her palm towards her wrist in a jagged and eerie line. It tingled unpleasantly as she looked at it, not really paying attention to meeting the elf, Solas was what she thought Cassandra said but who named their kid pride, and the dwarf, Varric. She did make sure to compliment him on the crossbow, as it was the finest she had ever seen. After all, she might not get the chance to compliment him on it later, and it was probably important in some way. By the Creators, he’d even named the thing.

Their journey took them across more frozen water, which Wren avoided thinking about by dashing across it as fast as possible. There were houses burning on the edge of the frozen river and Wren insisted they check for survivors, if only to cover up the mad dash across the ice. It saddened her that all they found were bodies in the houses, but there wasn’t time to dwell as Cassandra urged the group on towards the forward camp.

They arrived in the middle of a spat between the other woman who had been in the cell and a Chantry clerk. Wren wasn’t too invested in whatever argument was going on as long as they decided on a quick route to where the temple had once stood. That was until they asked her to decide: go through the mountains or go with the soldiers in a charge against the demons. Well, if Wren got to decide she was staying as far away from fucking demons as she could.

“We’ll go through the mountains and look for the scouts,” said Wren decisively.

“Very well,” said Cassandra, though she looked disappointed in the choice.

Wren almost felt like apologizing, but figured Cassandra would probably like that a lot less, and hey, Wren was probably going to be dead at the end of the day so what did Cassandra’s approval matter.

The climb through the pass was cold and slow, as they had to carve their way through the knee-deep snow. Varric stayed towards the back of the group as he was forced by the snow to stay in a path one of the others had carved out. They ran into relatively few creatures as they climbed, a couple scouts but not much else. As they reached the summit they encountered a group of scouts attempting to fend off a horde of demons bursting out of a rift. The green light reflected eerily off their shining armour, even in the daylight. A glowing red rage demon was about to pounce on a scout who was too terrified to move before both Cassandra and Wren drew their blades and entered the fray, both stabbing deep into the demon and allowing the scout to scramble to a safe distance. Not entirely sure if it would work, Wren lifted her hand at the rift and felt that same discomforting pull from the mark and with a grunt of pain and effort managed to seal it.

With that done and the scouts successfully recovered the party found themselves at the edge of what was once the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It looked so different than it had when Wren had arrived there for the conclave. For starters, there was barely any sign of the original temple. Instead there were large shards of rock stretching out of the scorched earth like the claws of some giant creature. The stench of burned flesh was still strong, Wren’s nose wrinkling at the stomach-turning smell. There were bodies, blackened and twisted and frozen in place littering the ground, a few still burned. It made Wren sick to think that she could be one of these bodies. If only she could remember what had happened!

They met Leliana again as they entered the remnants of the temple. Wren was glad to see she hadn’t died on the way up the mountain. Whatever path she took was probably far out of the eyes of any demon. For the first time Wren turned to look at the giant rift below the breach.

“I think I may need a ladder,” she said.

The rift was huge, and hovering at least thirty feet in the air. Wren wasn’t exactly sure how the whole sealing rifts thing worked, but thirty feet up sounded like a bit of a stretch.

“I’m sure it will not come to that. Are you ready?” asked Cassandra.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” answered Wren. “Um, actually, if I do, you know, die can you send word to my clan? Clan Lavellan in the Free Marches. I never actually told them I was going to the conclave and I think they would like to know what became of me.”

Wren scratched the back of her head. Running away to spy on the conclave wasn’t her greatest idea, but she’d had to. She had to know if the Templars and the mages could make peace. Of course it all ended so horribly and they would most likely never reconcile after the explosion but hey, a girl could dream.

“Of course,” said Leliana.

She then led her group of arches away into the nooks created by the explosion.

Wren determinedly began looking for a way to get closer to the rift, ignoring her companions looks. Ah, there was a way down on the other side.

“So you ran away from your clan, huh?” said Varric as Wren began leading them off.

“We can talk about this later,” said Cassandra, her tone leaving no argument.

The question was soon forgotten as ghostly voices rang out across the ruined space. It was the Divine’s voice, or so Cassandra claimed, but Wren heard her voice as well. Creepy. There was another voice as well, one Wren didn’t recognize no matter how forcefully Cassandra asked. It was deep and reverberated off the walls of the ruined temple.

“Is that red lyrium? Shit,” said Varric, investigating the glowing red crystals growing out of the ground.

Wren stopped to investigate a piece. She had never heard of red lyrium before, and wasn’t overly familiar with the regular blue kind either.

“No! Don’t touch it. Stuff does some pretty crazy things to your mind, I saw it back in Kirkwall.”

Wren jumped back from the crystal. Glowy stuff that made you crazy? That would certainly explain why the whole city went nuts. Wren steered them as far around the stuff as she could. Gladly, they didn’t run into a lot of it before they found the way down. As soon as her feet hit the slick surface of what looked like ground zero for the explosion the rift burst into life with demons.

Wren drew her sword and charged into the fray. As she dashed towards the large pride demon she was shocked to see Cassandra sprinting ahead with her shield out in front of her. Who knew the woman had such speed. The Seeker used her shield like a battering ram and took out one of the demon’s legs. Wren jumped in as it fell to its knees and thrust upwards at where she guessed its heart would be. If demons had hearts that is. Her blade was deflected by an arm as big as herself, sending her sprawling back. She bounced against the stone and sprang back to her feet. Creators that hurt. Then she got an idea. Running over to the rift she stood beneath it and thrust her arm up. Apparently thirty feet in the air made no difference as the connection was forged instantaneously. The burning feeling spread up Wren’s arm and into her shoulder, making her whole arm shake and tremble as muscles twitched and writhed under the force of the mark. There was only so long she could hold it and was forced to drop the connection, leaning on her sword as she let herself have a moment.

It had worked. The demons were weakened and being overpowered by the archers and soldiers and Cassandra, Varric, and Solas. Wren smiled and shook her sweaty hair out of her face. Time to jump back into the fray. And not a moment too soon! Another wave of demons burst out of the rift practically on top of them. Wren wasted no time in slicing her way through the demons, using her favourite spinning move in order to rapidly reduce their numbers. It seemed like there was no end to the demons until finally Wren swung her blade and hit nothing.

“Quickly! Close the breach!” called Cassandra from somewhere to her left.

Wren nodded and once again threw her hand into the sky. Again the pain ripped through her, and this time she had to force herself not to let go of the connection. There was a humming noise filling her ears, getting louder and louder before a bang rang out and Wren was blown backwards off of her feet. Wren was aware of a few things during the second she fell. First was the sound of cheers, and under that a concerned shout, and the way the eerie green glow had diminished. Then she landed, and knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's the beginning of Wren's version of events. For the time being I am unsure if this will turn out as a ship with Cullen or Cassandra. Cullen was her in game romance, but this is fanfic so anything can happen. As always, let me know what you'd prefer! 
> 
> This work will mostly be non-canon events within the canon timeframe. So adventures that could have happened to the Inquisitor as they stumble about Thedas.


	2. Chapter 2

Waking up was exciting, although unexpected. This time there was a bed beneath Wren and wood rafters above. Perhaps everything had been a dream and the conclave had yet to begin. Then a crackle of pain rolled down her hand. Nothing so bad as before, but more like the uncomfortable tingle of a sunburn than a hot brand being pressed into her palm. The sound of a door creaking on cold hinges made Wren’s head snap up to attention, one hand wandering for her knife when instead of an armed intruder a slender elf came stepping into the room.

“Goo-“ Wren didn’t have time to finish saying good morning before the elf was prostrating herself on the ground. The tray she had been carrying dropped with a clatter and potions rolled over the uneven boards.

“I’m sorry I didn’t know you were awake,” squeaked the elf.

“Why should you apologize for that?” was Wren still dreaming?

“I’m sorry Lady Herald, but Seeker Pentaghast wants to see you in the Chantry. As soon as you were awake she said,” the elf said quickly as she gathered up the items on the tray and dashed out the door.

“Wait,” Wren called after her, but there was only the sound of hurried footsteps and the door slamming shut.

With a sigh Wren peeled back the thin covers on the bed and slowly stood. For the most part she felt okay, hand tingling with the mark and the back of her head still hurt a bit. She was in a single-room house typical to Ferelden, with a bed and a table and the necessaries. There was even a caged raven to her surprise. What was she going to do with a raven, especially when she was asleep. Knowing she was still at the mercy of the humans Wren pulled on her boots and stepped outside. The icy wind hit her with a slap to the face. Snow, mountains, right. She must be in Haven then, it was the closest city to the Temple of Sacred Ashes after all. Wren rubbed some heat into her arms and looked around for the biggest stone building around. Why humans built overlarge buildings just for their religion was beyond her. The simple shrines of the Dalish were better suited for prayer than a cold room and dull song. And there it was, towering over the town like a fat lord looking over the peasants who farmed his land. 

Wren began making her way towards the Chantry without really paying attention to the people in the village. She wasn’t really in the mood to be yelled at or cursed at. That is until she saw several ahead of her turn to her and salute. Wren stopped in her tracks and looked behind her just in case the Empress of fucking Orlais was climbing up the steps behind her. Instead there were more villagers and armoured soldiers, all saluting with one clenched fist over their breast. It was very surreal seeing as the last time Wren had seen these people they had all looked like they would have happily killed her. What had happened since then. Sure she had been successful with the rift but what warranted this behaviour, especially towards an elf.

It was a relief in a way to enter the Chantry. Once the heavy doors closed behind her Wren could almost forget about the weird situation outside. The Chantry was dark, lit by the comforting glow of many candles in nooks and holders. There were no Sisters about, nor any clerks. There was only a statue of Andraste who’s eyes seemed to follow Wren as she padded quietly over the stones. It was easy to tell where she was supposed to be heading as there were raised voices coming from the room towards the back of the Chantry. Wren waited outside to see if the yelling would stop –she’d never been particularly good at being in the middle of a verbal sparring match, she much preferred to hit people with her sword, or if the need called for it calmly discuss a matter. Yelling made her uncomfortable, she couldn’t help but flinch at raised voices. They always meant she had done something wrong that couldn’t be fixed. But when Wren realized that they were yelling about her her curiosity won out and she opened the door a crack to look.

Cassandra, Leliana, and the mean Chantry cleric from the mountain were having it out, their voices bouncing off the stone walls to create a confusion of sound.  When Wren stepped into the room the yelling stopped and the cleric turned on her.

“Chain her! I want her taken to the capital for trial!”

There was the sound of movement in plate armour, and guards Wren hadn’t noticed burst into the room, seizing her by the arm in strong mailed grips.

“Disregard that!” barked Cassandra.

The guards released Wren and left. Wren massaged her arms where the metal had bit into her muscles. Now she was nervous. Had this been a display to remind her who was in charge, that she was a prisoner no matter if her hands were now unbound?

“The breach is stable but it is still a threat, I will not ignore it,” said Cassandra to the cleric.

Ah. The rift sealing mark. That’s why Wren hadn’t met a convenient execution yet. After all, only those who are useful are kept alive out of pity.

“I did everything I could to close the breach. It almost killed me,” said Wren indignantly.

“And yet you live. Convenient for you,” spat the cleric, who Wren wanted to hit more and more.

“Be careful Chancellor, the breach is not the only threat we face,” said Cassandra with a calculating tone.

In this room Wren finally got a good look at Cassandra. The woman looked terrifying and powerful with her high cheekbones and deep scars glinting in the candlelight. Wren was fairly sure that woman had started fights between men with that face. When her sharp dark eyes met Wren’s own Wren had to look down to keep her cheeks from warming. Creators! Cassandra had to be at least 15 years older than herself, Wren had no business looking at her that way.

Leliana accusing the Chancellor, not a cleric then as Wren had thought, provided a welcome distraction from that line of thinking.

“I am a suspect? But not the prisoner?” growled the man.

Wren glared back at him. The urge to punch was strong.

“I heard the voices in the temple, the Divine called to her for help,” said Cassandra. Wren was glad the Seeker was on her side in this fight.

“So the mark, her survival, a coincidence?” said the Chancellor skeptically.

“Providence, the Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour,” said Cassandra.

And there went all happy fantasies from Wren’s mind. Cassandra was clearly very Andrastian, and thought that Wren was some sort of prophet of the Maker. No way, Wren was Dalish! She believed in the Dalish pantheon thank you very much. However, Wren thought it best not to bring that up when in a Chantry surrounded by people in the Chantry hierarchy who also were holding her captive. Instead she decided to not even mention the religion.

“You believe I’m innocent?”

“Yes.”

Wren hoped this meant she could go home soon, maybe if there were more rifts she’d close those first. After all she had the only means of doing so.

“The breach remains, and her mark is the only hope of closing it,” said Leliana, reminding Wren of the very big problem hovering over their heads.

“That is not for you to decide!” the Chancellor was not having any of it, though it was obvious he was going to lose this one.

BANG! Wren jumped a foot into the air as Cassandra slammed an ancient thick tome on the table. Neither the Chancellor nor Cassandra seemed to notice, but Wren thought she saw Leliana’s keen eyes watch her flinch.

“You know what this is Chancellor. As of this moment I declare the Inquisition reborn,” declared Cassandra.

Leliana seemed taken with the idea, if not apprehensive with talk about numbers and leaders and Chantry support.

“Well, if you want to try and restore order to this demon-filled world, I guess I should help. What with the mark and all,” said Wren with a grin.  

She shared a firm handshake with Cassandra and then the moment was over. Wren didn’t exactly know what she had just agreed to but whatever it was it would change whatever destiny had awaited her with her clan. Leliana left the room with a sweep of her chainmail tunic and a sly grin. No doubt to send messages to potential allies. That left her and Cassandra alone in the Chantry. Wren made to leave but Cassandra fell into step beside her.

“Did you know the people have begun calling you the Herald of Andraste?” asked Cassandra.

“What?”

“They believe you were sent by the Maker, that the woman seen behind you in the fade was Andraste herself.”

“But I am an elf? A very Dalish elf, if you hadn’t noticed the tattoo on my face.”

“Does that mean you do not believe in the Maker?” Cassandra’s face was unreadable.

“I believe in the gods of my people, but these last few days… I’ll take an explanation where I can find one.”

“I see.”

They walked in silence as they exited the Chantry. Wren had to hold a hand up to shield her eyes from the bright glare of the sun against the snow. This was the first good look Wren had of Haven, with gently falling snow and frosted wood houses with smoky chimneys, and the frozen lake nestled at the bottom of the tiny mountain valley. It was picturesque, everything a mountain village should be. Though the presence of soldiers broke the serene image as the marched by, saluting to Wren and Cassandra as they passed. Cassandra nodded at them, but Wren had no clue how to react to the show of respect from shems. In the Chantry courtyard Cassandra came to a stop, a hand on Wren’s arm stopping her as well.

“There is something else I feel like we should discuss,” began Cassandra.

“Yes?” Wren wondered what else could they possibly need to talk about.

“At the temple you said something about running away from your clan, would you care to elaborate on that?”

It was asked as a question but the look in Cassandra’s eyes said she wasn’t going to let her go until she got answers. Wren quickly dropped her eyes from Cassandra’s as she thought out what she would say. Editing the truth seemed the best possible answer.

“I heard about the conclave when our clan was passing through Starkhaven. I felt like I had to know if the mages and the Templars could make peace. Keeper Istimaethoriel didn’t want me to go, said I was still too young to go off on my own to some shemlen event. I disagreed, stole some money, then traded, snuck, and charmed my way across the Waking Sea to get here,” Wren ended with a shrug. Really, that was the basic outline of what happened.

“You felt compelled to go to the conclave?”

“Yes,” for reasons that would remain undisclosed.

“The Maker set things in motion then long before the conclave. He was calling for the Divine long before the temple exploded. I’m not sure if that is comforting,” said Cassandra.

“Hold on a minute, I’m still not even sure about this whole ‘herald’ business,” said Wren, trying to head off Cassandra from spouting too much religion.

“The people have already spoken, Lavellan, you are the Herald to them now,” said Cassandra. It was a bit weird to be called by her clan name than her real name before Wren remembered she had never given it.

“My name’s Wren. Wren of Clan Lavellan, please use it.”

“Wren then. I’m glad you agreed to stay. The next few days will be busy; I suggest you take your rest where you can find it.”

Wren knew a dismissal when she heard one. With a nod of her head Wren left Cassandra’s side and began exploring the village. For the most part it was simply a few houses, a tavern, and a smithy. Tents had been set up outside the walls for soldiers and those who managed to escape the blast at the conclave. There was a road marked out through the snow and Wren followed it until she came to a dock. Though icy in patched Wren walked down the boards and settled herself at the end of the dock with one foot dangling over the ice. She might not like being so close to water, but from here she was out of sight of Haven and alone with her thoughts.

Maybe she should have stayed with her clan, ignored the shemlen politics and continued east to the ocean in her family’s aravel. They would be camping near Wycome soon, and Latharia’s baby was probably just about ready to arrive. Mamae and Babae were probably fretting over what had become of her, she should write them soon and let them know she was all right. Hopefully news of the explosion hadn’t reached them yet, they did not need to lose another child.

And that had been her whole reason for going to the conclave in the first place, to see if the mages and Templars could reconcile, to see if Dalish mages could be safe. Who knows what would happen now, with no mutual human leadership to bring the two together. Not to mention the great big demon-spitting hole in the sky. Which could only be mended by the freaky magic mark in her hand. This sort of thing only happened to heroes, like the Hero of Ferelden and the Champion of Kirkwall, not to Dalish elves who couldn’t even live up to Dalish standards. Wren couldn’t aim a bow to save her life, wasn’t a mage despite the creepy purple eyes, and liked to swing a giant sword instead of skillfully wield knives. With a sigh she let her head drop to her hand. The breeze ruffled her messy hair, swirling the auburn locks into further disarry, and brought the sound of approaching footsteps to her ears.

She turned, and saw the dwarf, Varric, strolling down the dock towards her, whistling a jaunty tune and looking like he had not a care in the world. She watched as Varric sat down next to her on the dock, looking out at the scenery like Wren wasn’t even there. Little by little Wren relaxed once again, slumping back down and taking in the frozen landscape. After a few more minutes Varric finally opened his mouth.

“Now that Cassandra’s out of earshot, how’re you holding up?” asked Varric with such genuine concern in his voice Wren felt a wave of emotion rush over her.

“Honestly? Not great. There’s a temple full of dead people smouldering on top on of the mountain, a hole in the sky, and some sort of magic mark embedded in my hand. Honestly, I feel like I’ve stepped into a particularly weird dream.”

“I hear you Birdie, shit stopped making sense when the conclave blew up. It doesn’t help that you went from being Thedas’ most wanted to the Herald of Andraste practically overnight. Most people would spread that out.”

Wren laughed at that.

“It wasn’t exactly my idea.”

“I don’t think anyone ever decides to be hero-worshipped, it just sort of happens when you do miraculous things. I mean if Hawke hadn’t done all that saving Kirkwall shit she’d still just be Hawke, albeit with the noble title and the fancy Hightown manor.”

Wren was silent for a moment, the cogs working in her head as she put two and two together.

“Wait, your Varric, Varric Tethras?” Wren practically shouted.

“Yep that’s me.”

“You wrote the _Tale of the Champion_?”

“Indeed I did.”

“Did that thing about Orsino becoming a strange super abomination with the bodies of the other mages actually happen? Because it sounds like fantastical embellishment if you ask me,” Wren said. She had read the story on the trip over the Waking sea to distract herself from the depths below the ship, just waiting to sneak through the planks and swallow them all to some unknown grave.

“Why does nobody ever believe me? So I’m prone to exaggeration, but that was not one of them! It was really really creepy all right? Little extra limbs dangling off everywhere,” said Varric with sweeping gesticulations.

“Gross!”

“It was very gross. Mention it and Hawke turns green, she hates that kind of blood magic stuff,” said Varric with a laugh.

Wren smiled. She felt a lot better after talking to Varric. Just having someone to talk to was nice. No doubt he’d write it all down later and turn it into another book, but for now it was good to be able to joke and talk.

“Come on Birdie, best start wandering back before the Seeker comes to yell at us. If anyone gives you a hard time you come to me kid. I mean I can’t do anything about it but at least you’ll have a friendly face to listen,” said Varric as he stood and dusted snow off his pants.

Wren stood as well, and together they slowly ambled back towards Haven’s gates.

“Thanks, Varric.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh I'm sorry it's taking so long to get a plot ball rolling. Sad part is I've plotted out fic for Wren Lavellan to the end of the game (not including Trespasser but including Jaws of Hakkon and The Descent). So far I'm leaning towards a Cassandra romance, but I'm still open ears to anyone who desperately wants it to be Cullen.


	3. Chapter 3

The next few days were a whirlwind of organizing tents and provisions and all manner of things for the Inquisition’s recruits. A fair number of refugees began to trickle into Haven as well, bringing word of fighting breaking out between groups of mages and Templars across Ferelden, with it being particularly bad in the Hinterlands. Many of the refugees had gotten wind of the Inquisition being set up in Haven, but not that it was little more than tents and soldiers. For the span of a week accommodations had been cramped, the tavern becoming a makeshift inn while a few more houses were built to house the growing refugee population. People were also being housed in the Chantry, with a few Sisters who survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes tending to their flock with renewed vigour. Wren made sure to disappear from sight whenever they were delivering a sermon ever since she had walked into the Chantry looking for Leliana and the Sister leading the prayers had begun loudly preaching about how the Herald of Andraste walked among them. She’d only barely managed to separate herself from the devout who all seemed to want a piece of clothing or lock of hair before sprinting to the armory and hiding on the roof.

Wren had spent most of the week avoiding the people pouring into Haven. Being the herald of a shem god wasn’t agreeing with her, and the reverence of the people was not helping her feel better about the whole situation. Every day Wren still expected to wake up and find out this was all some strange dream brought on by fever or drink. Instead, every morning Wren was woken by the sound of soldiers beginning their drills, typically with Cassandra’s voice barking out orders over the clash of metal on wood, but the last few days a man’s voice had joined hers in the loud morning wake up. This particular morning it was too loud too early. Wren groaned and rolled over, bringing her pillow with her to cover her head. No use, the clanging echoed through. With a huff and a groan Wren rolled out of bed and got ready for the day. She’d gotten new armour, the set of travelling clothes she had bought in Ostwick not exactly made for fighting off demons, and had grown used to the heavier human sword she had taken on the way up to the breach. The armour was buckled on at light speed, and the sword strapped to her back on top. Today she was supposed to go out and seal a little rift in the next valley that was spitting demons on top of refugees trying to reach Haven. Wren clenched her fist in anticipation of the pain. This would be the first encounter with a rift since the breach nearly killed her, and she worried. Would this rift, although much smaller, be what killed her? Wren had no idea, and after talking to the elf, Solas, who seemed to know the most about the strange magic in her hand she was not reassured. It would be a trial run for everyone it seemed. After a few deep breaths Wren steeled herself enough to go outside and begin gathering everyone in order to set out for the rift.

“Andraste’s pert nipples its freezing out here,” complained Varric from somewhere behind Wren.

“Maybe you should do up your shirt, or will it not contain all that chest hair?” shot back Wren with a sly grin.

They had set out a few hours ago, and were beginning their descent into the valley along the road worn through the snow by the tramping boots of the refugees. In the distance Wren could just make out a wisp of unnatural green among the snow covered trees.

“Very funny Birdie, you just don’t understand how all this handsomeness cannot be contained.”

“Herald, would you kindly not encourage him,” Cassandra asked, well more like ordered.

“Yes ma’am,” said Wren.

Cassandra’s voice did all kinds of things to Wren but she would be damned if she let it show. Besides, the Seeker was a devoted Andrastian, and called her Herald like the damned Chantry masses that piled up in Haven for a glimpse of her. That helped Wren squash those feelings down into the dust. That and the fact that Cassandra was probably far too old for her and she probably already had some handsome lover waiting for her to return. Wren sighed. She’d not ever been lucky in love before, no reason for it to start happening now.

“We are close,” said Solas as if he were stating the weather.

“Draw weapons,” ordered Cassandra.

Wren blinked and saw the looming green rift hovering in the branches of the trees roughly 100 meters away. The rift was moving. There were tendrils of green light lazily stretching out and pulling in like it was alive in some way and breathing. Wren took another step forward with her sword clenched tightly in her hand before the rift twisted violently and demons burst into being in a blast of green light.

“Come on then!” shouted Wren as she dashed into the fray.

Behind her she heard Cassandra yell as she charged into the fight. Varric had gone off to find some higher ground to shoot from and Solas was alight with magic, his staff a whirling blur of light. Wren spun with her sword, dragging it through demons as she made her dizzying way to underneath the rift. Once there she stuck up a hand and felt the pull. It tingled and her hand shook with the effort of maintaining the connection through the sensation. Against her will the connection broke with a bang and she stumbled back.

“Are you all right Birdie?” called Varric.

“Fine,” she shot back.

“There will be another wave,” stated Solas, wiping sweat from his shining head with a handkerchief before more demons appeared.

And appear they did! Without warning six of them appeared all around the rift, and all of them were intent on Wren.

Well, shit.

Her spins were only getting her so far with these new demons so she opted to take them on one by one. She parried a swipe from a rage demon and felt the heat radiating off it as it hissed in anger. Behind her Wren heard the sound of another demon sneaking up, but her focus was on the demon in front of her trying to kill her with its claws. Wren braced herself for the inevitable pain from behind but it never came. As Wren managed to push away the rage demon and send her sword straight through it the demon behind her was smashed away by Cassandra’s shield. The demon squealed as it went down and Wren felt the warrior taking up a position at her back.

“If you can handle the demons I’ll handle the rift,” panted Wren.

She felt Cassandra nod and dashed a few steps away before once again thrusting a hand up into the air and feeling the mark’s magic take hold. This time she held the connection until the rift pulsated and disappeared with an earthshaking bang. The remaining demons were stunned enough to be quickly dispatched and soon enough they were all standing in the trees with nothing but their heavy breathing and dirtied weapons.

“Well, that all seemed to work out,” said Wren as she wiped demon guts off the blade in the snow.

“The refugees will be safer on the road, good work,” said Cassandra and Wren felt her heart beat speed giddily.

“I’m still freezing, can we maybe do the ‘thank god that worked’ speeches back at Haven, preferably in front of the tavern’s fire?” Varric grumbled.

Wren laughed and nodded, leading the way back. The mark itched and burned, but it was easy to ignore as they hiked back up through the snow to the small village.

By the time they returned to Haven it was snowing again. The flakes fell lazily in swirling patterns as they danced on the light wind. It was just after midday though the clouded sky was dark and it felt like the moons were about to rise over the jagged mountains. The party broke up at the gate, each going their separate ways to seek out lunch when a runner came down from the Chantry towards Cassandra. He couldn’t have been very old, perhaps the son of a farmer fleeing the mage-Templar fighting.

“Seeker Pentaghast,” said the runner, “Leliana says things are ready, and to bring the Herald to the Chantry at once.”

“Thank you,” said Cassandra.

Cassandra had to physically grab Wren to stop her sneaking away for food, and ignoring the protests of hunger dragged her up to the Chantry.

Once inside there was little Wren could do but give up and dream of the hot stew she could have snagged from the soldiers’ cook pot. Inside the Chantry it was hushed. No sermons were being delivered and no faithful Andrastian was lighting a candle at the altar. It seemed more spiritual this way, without all the trappings of Chantry ritual. The statue of Andraste still seemed to watch her with sightless eyes.

They entered the room at the back of the Chantry. Inside was Leliana, as well as two others Wren did not recognize. Some blonde knight and a small Antivan noble with fantastic curves and a pretty smile.

“Herald, I’d like you to meet the rest of our advisors, we have Lady Josephine Montilyet,” began Leliana.

“An’daran atish’an, Herald,” said Lady Montilyet with a small curtsey.

Wren brightened at the use of her language. She hadn’t heard a lick of elvhen since leaving Clan Lavellan and until now she hadn’t had much time to miss it. But hearing it now made her both happy and homesick.

“You speak elvhen?” Wren asked excitedly.

“You’ve just heard the entirety of it I’m afraid.”

Wren frowned, but figured it was nice that Lady Montilyet would even know a greeting when so many nobles and humans thought elvhen was beneath them.

“And this is Commander Cullen, former Knight-Captain of Kirkwall’s Templars,” Leliana gestured to the blonde man.

Cullen inclined his head in a polite half-bow, but Wren felt her hackles rising. A Templar to be her advisor? Wren would have laughed out loud. What were Templars but torturers and killers who were lauded by the Chantry and dressed in fancy armor. No doubt this Commander would be just the same, waiting for some innocent victim to abuse. One hand unconsciously began reaching for the scars on her face, the other gripped the large ropey one that ran down the length of her stomach. All Templars were vicious, she would have to keep her guard up around this one. She stopped the hand reaching for her face before it was obvious what she was doing but she must have made some sort of expression.

“Is there a problem?” asked the Commander in a warm voice.

His eyes were apologetic, like a kicked puppy, but Wren knew that behind that face was a Templar.

“No, no problem,” said Wren, fist clenched tight over the thick scar on her stomach.

She could do this. If the Templar put a toe out of line she would end him without a second thought. This Commander Cullen had better not fall to any of his Templar tricks while in Haven, especially with the unstable magic of the mark glowing in her hand.

Then the advisors were going on about finding some Chantry Sister out in the Hinterlands and seeing what they could do for the people in the area. Wren ended up agreeing to go and see if the Sister would come back to the Inquisition, even if she wasn’t entirely sure why.

“I will accompany the Herald,” said Cassandra in a tone that allowed no argument.

“Are you sure? We could use her here,” asked Leliana.

“I think I’ve had enough of yelling at green soldiers about which end to hold a sword. Cullen can take over for now.”

The Commander nodded in agreement.

“We should leave tomorrow then?” suggested Wren, eager for this meeting to be done and to get out of the room with the Templar.

“It’s a bit sooner than I would have liked, but yes, we can arrange for things to be ready for us to travel tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

Wren hurried out of the room and out of the Chantry. Once out she took a deep breath and collected herself. The Templar might be a problem, but at least she could escape that one tomorrow. The mark on the other hand was a problem she couldn’t outrun. But as long as there were other things to do she could ignore it. First things first, she needed to round up Solas and Varric.

She wandered up to the mage’s little corner of Haven first. The house that Solas had a bed in was near the apothecary and the air up there always smelled vaguely of elfroot. Wren had yet to see any of the plant, but was excited to be able to get her hands on some. It was scarcer in the Free Marches, and too often Clan Lavellan ran out of the healing herb. Solas was outside, leaning against a low stone wall with a faraway look in his eyes.

“Solas?” said Wren as she approached.

“Ah, yes. What is it?”

“We have need to go to the Hinterlands, are you interested in coming along?” asked Wren.

Solas thought for a moment, though Wren was sure she would never be able to read his expression. His eyebrows, or where they would be if he had any scrunched together slightly and his lips were pulled down into his near constant frown. Truth be told, Wren thought Solas had probably spent too much time in the fade and needed to get out and live a little in this world. Knowledge wasn’t the be all and end all of the world as Solas seemed to believe.

“Yes, I will join you. There is a disturbance in the Veil which I would like to check in upon while we are there,” said Solas.

“All right, we can check it out.”

“Is there anything else?”

“No, though sometime I would like to hear about what you saw of Ostagar in the fade.”

With that Wren hurried down the path past the tavern to Varric. The dwarf was busy entertaining some soldiers with a tale about Hawke and her old mabari. Something about how the dog would always pee on Gamlen’s bed when the man was out drinking and the drunk would go to sleep on the dog piss sheets. Wren thought that’s what it was anyways, she had only caught the last minute or so of the story. After a round of uproarious laughter the soldiers dispersed and Wren approached.

“Ah, the Herald. What are we doing now? Taking on an Archdemon? Thought I told you to spread these things out over more than a day.”

“No Archdemons I hope. Though I do have another job for us.”

Varic crossed his arms and shifted his weight, ready to hear something he wasn’t going to like. Wren wasn’t sure exactly what Varric had been doing at the conclave in the first place. What was one of Hawke’s companions doing in Ferelden and with the Seeker no less.

“All right, what do you need me to do?”

“If you’d like, come to the Hinterlands with me to fetch a Chantry Sister and see what trouble we can find along the way,” Wren kept her tone light, hoping the dwarf would mimic.

“I do tend to fall in with the attracting-trouble types, I’m in,” said Varric, following Wren’s lead and keeping it light.

“Excellent, we’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow!”

“Yes, the sooner the better and all that.”

“Don’t tell me, the Seeker is coming with us?” Varric groaned and rubbed his hands down his face.

“Yes, actually. It’s not going to be a problem is it? You and Seeker Pentaghast working together I mean,” asked Wren. She hadn’t considered that the two might not work together.

“No problem from me. I don’t have to like someone to work with them.”

Wren nodded. That was a relief. For a moment she was sure that Varric would say no and she would be headed off to the Hinterlands without someone to watch their backs.

“So you know I’ve read the _Tale of the Champion_ ,” Wren changed the subject.

“And you’re a fan,” teased Varric.

“Who could resist such a master of words,” shot back Wren.

“All right, ask your question,” Varric smiled at her.

“Did Hawke really take down the Arishok by herself? Qunari are so big, it had to have been all of you.”

Varric laughed.

“Oh yeah it was just her. I may have glorified the ending as Fenris and I ended up carrying her out of the Viscount’s manor. No one goes up against an Arishok and leaves the fight looking pretty. Still flirted with Fenris all the way through Anders’ treatment though. Then again I don’t think she passes up any opportunity to flirt with Fenris. She used to do it constantly when we were out on jobs. Fenris didn’t know how to deal with it at first, but then he started flirting right back. Throw Isabela in the mix and you’d get great explicit banter. Actually its where I got most of my ideas for my romance serial.”

“It sounds like you miss them,” said Wren.

“I do. But I don’t know where any of them are now. Isabela is probably somewhere on a boat with a fancy hat, and who knows where Hawke and Fenris ended up. Hopefully somewhere nice, Maker knows they deserve some peace.”

Varric had gone from cheerful to contemplative and Wren thought it best to leave him with his thoughts for now.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Varric,” said Wren.

“I’ll be ready, Birdie,” replied Varric.

Wren gave a little wave as she walked away, and Varric returned it. He was missing his friends. After all, the explosion at Kirkwall’s Chantry hadn’t been that long ago. Ten years of friendship wasn’t an easy thing to let go of. Maybe Varric also needed to be kept busy to stop thinking about his home. Creators knew Wren did.

After stealing an apple from a sack Wren settled herself on the low wall outside Haven’s tall wooden gates. Munching on the apple she looked out over the training recruits and the mountains beyond. The apple was crisp and tart, a treat for being up in the mountains where most of the food was carted in from Ferelden. The recruits were doing well under the Commander’s eyes, but she would be watching to be sure he wasn’t instilling Templar morals in his soldiers. However, she found her eyes slipping to the side of the training grounds, where the Seeker was hacking away at a training dummy. Even through the swirling snow Wren could tell that Cassandra had good form, probably the best she’d seen, and used her sword like it weighed nothing. Her sword and shield were simply extensions of her arms, like she had been born with the weapons in her hands. It was the most beautiful of dances, the dance of the sword. At lest the way Cassandra was doing it. Wren was more of the smash it with the blade until it dies kind of swordsman. Not exactly graceful, but it got the job done.

Wren shifted her attention back to the recruits as she finished her apple, core and all, before tossing the stem out into the snow. Using a short sword wasn’t exactly her style, but she could probably pick up a few tips from what the recruits were doing, even if they were from the mouth of a Templar. She was so busy watching she didn’t notice Cassandra coming up until she was tapped on the knee. Wren jumped about a foot into the air, falling off the wall and landing with an ungraceful thump in the snow on her back.

“You need something?” Wren asked, still lying in the snow.

“I was going to ask what you were doing, staring at Commander Cullen like that.”

Cassandra had her arms crossed and disapproval in her voice, but Wren could see the hint of a smile playing at her lips and dancing in her eyes. Probably at Wren’s expense, but it was nice to see.

“Why did you volunteer to come to the Hinterlands?” Wren shot back as she got to her feet, brushing off the snow from her armour.

“Ugh. Why does it matter?”

“You don’t have to, just like you didn’t have to come with me to seal the rift this morning.”

“I admit I am worried. You have little skill with a blade and we can’t afford for you to be killed.”

“So I’ve got a designated babysitter. What happened to not being able to protect me?” Wren asked, a tinge of anger seeping into her tone. Sure, she might not be overly skilled with her sword, but she was no pushover either.

“You are angered by this.”

“Of course I am. I’m nineteen, I’m not a child anymore! I can handle a sword and I can handle myself. Rest up, tomorrow will be a long journey,” Wren snapped.

It was a good thing Cassandra was so good looking or else Wren might have punched her. Instead she stalked back to her house with a frown, the scars through her lip and eyebrow twisting and making her look positively murderous. One poor soldier practically sprinted out of her path. 

Wren slammed the door, stomped over to the bed, fell down face first, then realized what a child she had been. She sighed. The best thing would be to apologize to Cassandra for yelling at her tomorrow. For now the best thing would be sleep, and lots of it. Who knows when she would see a bed again. She got up again and shedded her armour and changed into a soft tunic and hose before slipping underneath the covers. Wren closed her eyes and tried to let sleep wash over her, but instead her mind focused on a pair of dancing dark eyes and the small hint of a smile.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have decided on a Cassandra romance, though it will not blossom for a good long while. For now it remains a one-sided crush. I'm currently sick as fuck, I hope the rest of y'all are fairing better. Tea, juice, and dressing warm for the winter folks! Unless your in a warm place in the world, in which case, remember your Vitamin C!!


	4. Chapter 4

Those dreamy eyes and the almost smile were what prevented Wren from sleeping, but it was the pain that kept her awake through the night. Just as Wren was beginning to relax to the sound of night falling over Haven a strange sort of ache developed in her abdomen. Wren was used to the pain her monthlies brought, and usually made sure to have all the necessary things to make willow bark tea and, if she could get it, powdered elfroot to mix into her water. But her monthlies had ended just before the conclave, she shouldn’t be getting this for another two weeks. Then the pain hit harder and Wren couldn’t think anymore. It was agony, like she’d been stabbed by a blade that jumped from hot to cold to poisonous. She rolled in her sheets, tangling them in her legs as she tried to squeeze into as small a ball as possible. It didn’t help. She screamed into the pillow, muffling the noise. There were only a few seconds between Wren realizing she needed to vomit and it actually happening. Lucky for her she managed to make it to the chamber pot before loosing the contents of her stomach. Over and over she retched until there was nothing left. Pushing the pot and its foul contents away Wren dragged herself back to the bed. Every movement was another knife in her abdomen. Crawling her way back into bed Wren curled on her side with her hands gripping her arms hard enough to leave bruises. There she stayed the night, shaking and crying and waiting for the death she was sure was coming. The mark on her hand must have caused this, or whatever happened at the temple, or physically walking through the fade.

She almost didn’t notice when the pain began drifting away. It was much slower leaving than it was to arrive. As it receded Wren became aware of just how cold and achy she felt, like the day after a nasty fever broke. The first hints of dawn were visible outside the windows but Wren was exhausted from the night of tense pain. Before the pain had vanished completely Wren had fallen into a deep sleep.

It was no surprise therefore that she was shaken awake a few hours later, well past the morning training and well past the first few bells of the Chantry. Wren groaned, still sore and tired from being awake all night in agony.

“Did you forget that you were the one who demanded we leave for the Hinterlands today?” an accented voice said from somewhere above Wren.

Wren reached out a hand to try and shush whoever was speaking. She did not want to move today, nor did she want to wake up. All she wanted was to lie here in misery and sleep, and perhaps later have someone bring her tea.

Then she realized the voice was Cassandra’s, she was supposed to be packed and ready at the gates, and that she had yet to organize so much as her bedroll.

Wren shot out of bed like it was filled with giant spiders. She narrowly missed colliding with Cassandra, and managed to hide a wince as the ache in her abdomen pulled. Wren began stuffing things into her pack as fast as she could.

“Sorry, I’ll be ready to go in half an hour,” said Wren as she shoved a wad of underclothes into the bag, followed by her stock of willow bark.

Cassandra watched amusedly as the Herald of Andraste ran around the small cabin shoving things into a seemingly bottomless pack. More than once the elf caught her toe on the greatsword lying in the middle of the floor and nearly go flying.  Her eyebrows were scrunched together in concentration as she silently listed things off on her fingers. It was almost cute. Almost. The scar that sliced through her right eye and continued, curving across her cheekbone to beneath the messy hair ruined that image. Lavellan probably would have been considered beautiful if not for the scars and the rough shorn hair, as Cassandra herself had once been. Cassandra shook those thoughts from her head as Lavellan began throwing clothes for under her armour on the bed.

“Well, got to get dressed and all that, may as well tell them I’ll be late. What time is it anyway?” Wren glanced out the window but couldn’t see the sun or enough shadow to judge the time.

“Just past eleven bells. Technically you aren’t even late yet.”

What! Wren turned and gaped at Cassandra.

“Why did you make me all anxious and rushed then?”

“I did not, I merely woke you.”

Wren sighed and turned back, though the movement pulled at the hurt inside her and she almost doubled over, one hand flying to the source of the pain like she could just press it out. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Cassandra frown.

“Are you all right?” asked Cassandra.

“Fine, just a little tired still. Didn’t sleep well last night,” Wren fought to keep her voice from wavering.

Cassandra nodded and left, and Wren sat on the bed to change. She poked at her abdomen where the pain had been but there was nothing to be seen on her freckled skin. Deciding she wouldn’t worry about it any longer she pulled on her clothes and armour dashed out the door, only to double back when she realized she had left her pack behind.

The trip to the Hinterlands was slow. They kept a moderate pace to conserve energy and ran across several travellers trying to reach Haven. Most were lost as the road markers were buried under snow, even with cart tracks carved deep into the frozen dirt. Stopping to give directions became tiresome after the fifth time they had to point someone on their way. Before mid afternoon they found themselves out of the mountains and out into the valley of Lake Calenhad. The sky was so clear they could see the faint outline of the ruin of the Circle Tower way out to the left across the lake. But their path turned right and followed the old Imperial Highway down to the south.

They reached the outskirts of the Hinterlands just before dusk, finding their way to the Inquisition’s camp by the dying light of the sun. Overhead the sky was bright with hues of pink and orange lighting it up like streaks of fire. The sounds of night were coming alive. Above, an owl hooted softly and the sound of bat wings hummed through the night air. Between the trees Wren made out fire from a camp.

“There, that must be it,” she said, glad at the thought of a meal and her bedroll.

“Careful Birdie, there’s more than just the Inquisition out here,” said Varric as he readied his crossbow.

Wren shrugged at him, but kept one hand at the ready near the hilt of her sword just in case. They crept along in the bushes stealthily. Even in full armour Wren and Cassandra managed to be fairly quiet. As they got close their fears were dissuaded: the camp was full of scouts and banners bearing the Inquisition insignia. Wren breathed a sigh of relief and wandered into the campsite.

“Hello! You must be the Herald! I’m Scout Harding, nice to meet you,” said a pretty dwarf who approached as soon as Wren walked out of the foliage.

“Hello,” said Wren, smiling at Scout Harding’s enthusiasm.

“It’s about time you got here! The rebel mages and Templars are tearing the place apart. Most of the refugees are down at the Crossroads, along with Mother Giselle. You’ll need to head down there in the morning to talk to her. Meanwhile, we’ve got hot food,” said Harding.

“Hot food and friendly faces sound lovely,” said Wren with a wink.

Harding smiled at her and led the group over to where a pot was bubbling merrily over the fire. Wren  gladly accepted a bowl of soup, thick with root vegetables and chunks of meat. Wren placed her bets on it being one of the wild rams she had seen while they made their way down. Either way, it was delicious and warm. In fact, Wren was far warmer than she had been in a long time. The snow had fallen away as they they had come down the mountains and were replaced by bushes and trees and grass. Wren enjoyed the moment of warmth, and looking around the fire, so did everybody else. Varric was oiling Bianca’s mechanisms with a smile on his face, his coat lay beside him in the dry dirt. Cassandra was listening to a story told by Scout Harding with rapt attention. The firelight practically glittered on her skin, illuminating her high cheekbones and shadowing the deep scars. The light wrapped itself around Cassandra like it was drawn there. Wren could see the outlines of strong muscle beneath her pants and her blouse and couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to be wrapped up in those strong muscles.

A log in the fire shifted and dropped with a snap. Wren jumped, snapped out of her staring and blinked owlishly around the camp. No one seemed to notice she had just been staring at the Seeker or that she had jumped out of her skin. The only difference was perhaps in Varric’s smile, which had shifted to from happy to smug. Deciding not to comment on that she looked around for Solas. The other elf was some distance from the fire, seated on a mossy rock and gazing up at the stars. Wren put down her bowl and wandered over. Below in the valley lights were visible. Flickering lights from the refugee camp at the crossroads most likely. Wren sat down cross-legged next to Solas and stared up at the stars. It was nice that the stars remained the same across the world, her eyes picking out the familiar constellations.

“What are you looking for up there?” asked Wren.

“Something familiar,” said Solas.

‘They’re the stars. They might move with the seasons but they’ll always be the same.”

“Sometimes, if you don’t look at a thing often enough your mind changes it so that when you see it again its unrecognizable.”

“How long have you spent locked up in the fade? You should remember the real world sometimes. It might not have all that history but its got something just as good. Its called the present. Maybe you should stick around for it,” Wren snarked.

“Wise words, though with everything going on it doesn’t seem like the best time to be involved in the present.”

“Fair enough. But you’re here, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

They lapsed into silence. The moons wheeled overhead, grinning at each other across the ocean of stars. An owl swooped low over their heads and drifted off into the blackness of the sky. In the distance a wolf howled and was answered by the pack. Solas looked off in the direction of the cry, head cocked as if listening.

Sitting there, Wren realized that the pain that had kept her awake all night had dissipated without her noticing sometime during the march down the mountain. She also realized that she was exhausted and let out a jaw-cracking yawn. She stretched out and felt the exhaustion sweeping over her limbs.

“You are tired,” said Solas.

“It was a long day.”

“Perhaps. You should find a tent and get some sleep, I suspect tomorrow may be longer.”

Wren got up, leaving Solas to his stargazing. She drifted back into the camp and after a little inquiry found herself directed towards an empty tent. She barely managed to get her armour off before collapsing face first on top of her bedroll and drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning Wren found herself awoken by birdsong and sunlight through the thin fabric of the tent. She pushed off the cover of her bedroll, pausing to wonder when exactly she had crawled under it. She rolled over, expecting to find some scout as her tent mate, but instead came nose to nose with a gently snoring Cassandra. Wren jumped back in surprise but didn’t wake the sleeping woman. With a tomato-red face Wren quickly dressed herself and left the tent.

The full force of daylight left Wren blinking as she stepped out of the tent. It filtered through the trees as songbirds danced among the branches. Scout Harding was already up, counting arrows in a leather quiver. She smiled and waved when she saw Wren, but went right back to counting. Wren managed to scrounge up some breakfast by the time the others had emerged from their respective tents. Within the hour they were ready to head out, armed to the teeth and wary. None of the scouts had said anything good about the fighting happening out in the Hinterlands and Wren did not want to be caught in the middle of it. At least, not without a big sword on her back and her companions similarly armed.

Wren lead the way down to the crossroads, taking note of the crumbling keep sitting up on top of a steep rise. Bits of its stone walls were littered down the side of the hill, weathered round from years of rain and snow. Solas looked up at the keep with interest and longing. No doubt he wanted to see what lingered there in the fade, but they had more pressing matters than seeing what happened two hundred years ago in a ruin.

“Maybe later, if we have time,” said Wren, though she didn’t mean a lot by the promise.

“Thank you,” said Solas, finally tearing his eyes away from the ruin.

They came upon the crossroads as a place of screaming and the scent of magic. As they walked into the chaos Wren could see that a group of rebel mages had run into a group of Templars and decided to fight it out in the middle of the refugees. Bystanders to the fight were screaming, and more than one was injured. A mage stepped into one of the marshy puddles littering the area and let out a burst of electricity, frying a Templar and a woman trying to clamber up towards the cabins and away from the fight. It made Wren’s blood boil. Templars had once sworn themselves to protect and the mages were not helping their cause by causing so much destruction. Wren leapt into the fray between a mage and a Templar, spinning and catching the two of them with the blade. The mage fell, and the Templar danced away with a nice dent across the front of his armour.

Behind her Wren heard the party leap into battle. The unusual hiss of Varric’s crossbow whispered somewhere to Wren’s left and an enemy rogue went down with the bolt in his eye before he could sink his daggers into Solas’ back. Wren had to be mindful of the slippery ground beneath her feet as she engaged the Templar. His blade rang against her own as the two danced their deadly dance. He was stronger than her, and more nimble, armed with only a short sword. But Wren was fierce. In a deft movement of her wrists she tore the sword out of his hands and jabbed her sword underneath his armour. Down he went and Wren ran to a mage looking to blast Varric of his perch with a blaze of fire. She tackled him, breaking the mage’s concentration before smashing him down with her sword. The mage gargled his last breath through a mouthful of blood. Wren stepped back, stomach rolling at the sight of the man’s smashed in chest. White bone poked through bloodied flesh and robes. Wren jumped back from the body and wiped her boots in the muddy grass.  Varric shot a bolt through the last Templar’s throat and silence reigned over the crossroads.

Wren panted. The only sounds were her gasps and the feet of her companions as they came to join her. Then the sound of a door creaking open and feet on the stone steps near the cabins. A bird began singing again, and suddenly there was too much sound. People were flooding out of the buildings and talking at them, thanking them. The cheers were indecipherable noise against her ears. Luckily the crowd dissipated quickly and the sound came back properly by the time Wren got her breath back. As the people went began picking up their lives a mother began picking her way across the marshy ground towards them. She avoided all the puddles that would have otherwise dirtied her robes and approached.

“Mother Giselle?” asked Wren.

“You must be the Herald of Andraste,” replied Mother Giselle with a thick Orlesian accent.

“If you like,” Wren said with bite. If she never heard the title again it would still be too soon.

“You do not believe?”

“I’m not going to deny any god at this point, but I’m not sworn to yours.”

Behind her Varric snorted with amusement. Wren smiled and Cassandra frowned.

“Don’t worry, I did not call you here to debate,” Mother Giselle smiled.

“Then why am I here?” Wren was good at dancing around the point, but starting the day by killing had her bouncing on her feet with adrenaline.

“I know the Chantry denounced you and I am familiar with those behind it. I won’t lie to you some of them are grandstanding-“

Wren almost snorted herself. That was an understatement if she’d ever heard one.

“-hoping to increase their chances of becoming Divine. Some are simply terrified with so many people taken from us.”

“Don’t you stand with the Chantry?”

Shem religious politics were so confusing. Elvhen gods were so much less demanding of pomp and circumstance.

“Without the Divine we are each unto our own conscience. You must convince them you are no demon to be feared. Give them something else to believe.”

“You want me to appeal to them?”

Wren had about as much chance of convincing the Chantry the Inquisition was a force for good as a nug in a wolf den. It would probably end the same for her and the nug.

“If I thought you were incapable, I wouldn’t suggest it.”

Wren thought that this Mother Giselle was capable of suggesting a pretty trap.

“Will they even listen,” said Wren, tone slipping towards angry.

“You just need some doubt, not to convince them all. Take away their unified voice and you will find yourself the time you need.”

Mother Giselle had a smile on her face that made her look like the cat who swallowed the songbird.

“All right, we’ll try your idea. Farewell.”

Wren inclined her head at the same time as Mother Giselle before they both turned in opposite directions. The Mother went to where the injured had been placed for healing, and Wren could hear her soothing a soldier about accepting a mage’s treatment. Maybe the woman wasn’t so bad.

“One of the Inquisition’s soldiers should be here training the refugees to defend themselves. We should see if there is anything he needs,” said Cassandra.

Wren nodded in agreement. There had to be things to do here, and more than likely there would be more rifts to close out in the wilderness. Before finding the soldier Cassandra spoke of Wren wandered around the small settlement. An elf, probably one of the city elves from Redcliff was fretting over his wife’s heath. Some sort of lung sickness. Wren sympathized, the last Keeper Lavellan had died of lung rot when she was very little, but she remembered his constant coughing. Another man knelt by a cooking pot, scraping a poor amount of vegetables and roots into it. Not enough food then. The hunters were probably too scared to go out with all the fighting in the area. Probably could help with that too. There were more than enough fluffy rams wandering the hills.

Corporal Vale turned out to be a smallish man with a scruff of black beard who seemed resigned to his work in the Hinterlands. He told them how the refugees needed blankets and supplies, and that food was dwindling with the mage-Templar fighting growing worse by the day. He also told them of a horsemaster living up on the nearby farm who could potentially provide mounts for the Inquisition. Wren wondered why this horsemaster hadn’t fled to Redcliff or the Inquisition with the fighting that was no doubt turning his farm into scorched dirt. Corporal Vale took their map briefly in order to note where he thought the apostates might be keeping supplies that might be better turned to refugee use. Wren thanked him before leading them in the direction of the horsemaster.

They passed through a short tunnel of damp rock and dirt. The walls dripped from some unknown water source and a few straggly roots reached out to touch them with feather-light fingers. A few Inquisition soldiers were standing guard in the shadows near the tunnel’s mouth. They looked nervous, though saluted when they walked by. Wren assumed the salute was for Cassandra but the Seeker didn’t return it or acknowledge it. Cassandra caught her looking, but before her eyes could find Wren’s own Wren let her gaze skitter away to the ceiling. For once there were no giant spiders in the tunnel, a fact that Wren was extremely grateful for as spiders of any size scared the shit out of her.

As they exited the tunnel the wind changed and Wren got a face full of hot smoke. She coughed harshly, and a hand thumped on her back. Blinking back the stinging tears Wren saw that it was Varric next to her with a fist raised to do it again. Wren waved him off, for an archer with a crossbow Varric was very strong.

“You know, I lived in Kirkwall through its worst and this looks like it wants to top some of those moments,” said Varric, looking out over the land beyond.

Wren looked herself, this time without getting smoke to the face. The land was obviously the sight of some big battle between the mages and Templars. There were unnatural spikes of ice dotting the tramped-down muddy field. There were cottages in the small valley and all were burning. Barriers had been erected, most likely by the people who lived in those homes, but these were broken and alight as well. More than one refugee cart could be seen lying broken or abandoned across the valley floor. Wren hoped they had all made it to the crossroads okay. The thought that they were lying out there somewhere with their bodies stamped into the ground was too sad to entertain. They picked their way across the burning landscape carefully. Wren found a coin purse lying abandoned and picked it up. She wasn’t so rich she could pass up the coin. Maybe she could buy herself some new boots if they ever stopped in a city, or a warmer bedroll. They passed by the corpses of mages and Templars alike. One of the ice spikes had a hand sticking out of it but Wren looked away before she could think about it.

“You all right there, Birdie?” asked Varric.

“Sure.”

“You’re looking a little green,” he said with an eyebrow raised.

Wren gestured with a sweeping arm to all the leftovers of battle.

“I’m not used to all this. Not a lot of battles to be fought when with a Dalish clan.”

It was true. Sure, Wren had seen members of her family and clan killed and helped kill small bands of bandits who attacked the aravels, but she had never seen anything like this. Clan Lavellan never fought when they didn’t have to. The Dalish were too few as it was, why risk endangering more of the People.

“Sorry to say but this isn’t going to be the worst thing you’ll see before this magic mark business is done,” said Varric, gripping her arm briefly.

“Demons are no problem, don’t you worry about that.”

“That’s not exactly what I was saying.”

Wren shrugged. Demons weren’t a problem, and if all of Thedas had fallen into this kind of chaos she was sure that she would grow used to battlefields as well. The sound of fire crackling echoed around them as they made their way along. There was a bridge at the far end, and across it was the farm where the horsemaster waited. On their right a crumbling keep stood carved into a cliff face. A tattered banner caught the breeze and snapped overhead, but it was too rotten and distant for Wren to make out its sigil. Probably Redcliff, seeing as it was close to the city. Or perhaps it was from some long ago age before this was Redcliff’s land. Solas’ eyes were full of hunger for that knowledge.

There was something unsettling about walking in the valley. The sun was shining down on them with only a few fluffy clouds in the sky, but there was a darkness creeping on them. No birds sang here, nor did any animal scamper through the scrubby bushes or through the grass and puddles. The only thing that moved in the valley was the wind blowing across it. The wind blew from behind them, tugging on their clothes and pushing them forward. Wren didn’t trust that wind. Cassandra would probably scoff at her ‘Dalish superstition’ if she voiced the thought aloud. If only Cassandra wasn’t so attached to the Chantry, or human for that matter. Wren shook the thought out of her head. She needed to stop thinking about the woman and get on with the rifts and get rid of the mark and go back to Clan Lavellan.

Wren was so caught up in her thoughts she didn’t notice the mages at first. The group was passing by the mouth of the keep when the mages flew out of nowhere, using some sort of magic to fly from the edge of the valley to practically on top of them. Solas reacted first, pushing Wren and Varric through the opening to the keep’s courtyard as he created a barrier of ice glyphs behind them all. Then he and Varric scrambled to more advantageous locations behind barriers of rubble. Cassandra and Wren gripped their swords and waited for the first of the mages to follow them through.

They didn’t expect the group of Templars to pop out behind them.

They charged out of the heart of the keep, weapons raised and screaming war cries. Varric barely had time to shoot the woman who was charging him down before she could decapitate him. Solas was in a similar situation until Wren charged up and swung out at the Templar who had targeted him. The man parried the blow, but barely. Wren felt the vibration ring through her sword and up her arms but followed through with another blow. This one connected and the man went down with a crumpled breastplate.

As Wren had turned to face the Templars the mages had finally entered the small courtyard and chaos reigned as the three parties each tried to kill the other two. Wren could barely keep track of anything, though saw Cassandra rushing by to bash a mage with her shield and heard the unmistakable sound of Bianca firing.

A blaze of heat zoomed past Wren’s left ear and blasted into an archer perched on the rise by the entrance to the keep. She felt the heat blistering her sensitive ear but by the time she’d turned to see who had cast the spell the shifting battle had moved them. When she turned back the empty space in front of her was occupied by a large Templar in heavy armour with a big shield. Wren only had a second to process this before becoming intimately acquainted with the shield. She took the hit well, even though she was thrown by the force of it. She scrambled in the dirt, rolling to avoid the sword the Templar swung down at her before leaping back to her feet, sword in hand and armour covered in mud. She swung her sword at the Templar but it did little against the shield. What was that thing made of anyway. She tried again but her sword was useless against the four-and-a-half-foot heavy metal monstrosity. Though it gave her some pleasure to see the Templar behind it shuddering under the force of the blows. She tried to find Varric or Solas to ask them to take out this guy from behind, there was no way she was getting around that shield unless the Templar decided to abandon it. He pushed forwards, forcing her back as she tried to get a swing over the shield at his head. The Templar was too quick for her, raising the shield to block her swings. It became a sort of dance, one in which Wren lost ground. She was being backed up against the crumbling wall of the courtyard slowly and methodically. Her eyes kept searching for her companions but she couldn’t spot them in the chaos. Wren felt her heels meet the wall and swallowed hard. The Templar must have sensed his chance and aimed a blow at Wren’s side. In order to do this he had to move his shield and Wren took that chance. She thrust forward in the gap created and her blade bit deep into his unarmoured armpit and sunk deep. The man stumbled back and fell into the mud, unmoving.

Wren felt pride at defeating such a foe. Take that Cassandra, who’s ‘unskilled with a blade’ now? Wren sighted a mage casting a spell and made towards them. She took one step towards them before a whistle caught her ear and a pain blossomed in her shoulder. Wren stumbled back and looked down at her shoulder. She was met with the black fletching of an arrow. It had punched through her armour and her shoulder.

“Oh,” said Wren.

She was sure Varric would hit her for not saying something heroic or dramatic, but nothing came to mind other than the pain of the arrow in her shoulder. She felt her knees give out distantly, like she wasn’t attached to them anymore.  It was just an arrow. She’d been shot before, once when a young hunter in the clan mistook her for a deer and shot her in the leg. This shouldn’t have brought her down. Wren swayed on her knees, trying to think past the darkness creeping over the edges of her vision. The sound was all wrong. There should have been the sound of metal on metal and shouts of battle but instead there was a hollow ringing sound. Everything tilted sideways as Wren fell into the dirt. She kept a tight grip on her sword though. That was one thing Wren had learned well: keep ahold of your sword. The ground was lumpier than she expected. Really, she had expected mud, not something solid and cold. Wren blinked, but there was nothing but darkness in front of her eyes, and then there was nothing at all.          

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I'll get the chance to post another before I go away on my reading break, so apologies.   
> As a small aside, at the beginning of the chapter Wren's very painful episode is based on something that I've gone through and keep going through in my own life, and I figured that maybe writing out whats going on in my body in someone else's might help me out when it happens (in the 'if they can deal with it so can I' way). Of course I wish I had the possibility of a magic cure, but alas modern science means surgery in my future. Take care of yourselves kids!


	5. Chapter 5

Time is a strange thing. It doesn’t always make sense. For instance Wren was floating in a black space where all of time passed her by and stopped completely all at once. She could see to the end of the world and nothing more than her own heart paused between one beat and the next. It was a very strange experience. Once in a while she saw faces. The first was her brother’s, all rosy cheeked with his crooked smile, his eyes were sad though, their golden colour faded as a tear rolled down his cheek. He usually wanted to show her a new trick he learned from the Keeper or tell her a new story he had heard. But he was pushing her away, pointing back the way she had come. She didn’t want to go, but he was insistent. So she turned and left back to the blackness. The next face she saw was Solas. He was above her, and behind him hung the twin moons in the sea of stars. She blinked her focus back to Solas and watched the flicker of green light against his skin. Belatedly she realized that it was mild healing magic that was causing it. She opened her mouth to say something but instead fell back into the blackness. There were brief flashes of Varric and Cassandra. Concern drew lines on their faces. Once they were arguing and Wren wanted to beg them to stop but the rest of her didn’t seem to want to respond to her brain. She lay until the black crept over her vision again and the voices were cut off by a lack of consciousness.

The next time Wren woke up she was actually aware of her body. It was not a pleasant sensation and she’d rather like to go back to the pleasant dream she’d been having in the fade. Instead the aches and pains would not be ignored and goaded her into wakefulness. She coughed against the dryness in her throat and instantly there were hands supporting her shoulders and water at her lips. Wren gulped it down greedily, the sensation of water was heavenly against the dry skin of her throat.

“Slowly now,” said a familiar Nevarran accent.

Wren gasped and sputtered as the water was taken away. She opened her eyes and was met with the deep scar down Cassandra’s cheek.

“Solas, she is awake,” called Cassandra.

The elf was suddenly in her field of vision. One hand hovered over Wren’s shoulder and Wren felt the magic flow gently over her skin.

“Was it poisoned?” asked Wren. She frowned at how scratchy her voice was.

“Yes.”

No wonder Wren felt like she’d been buried and then had a whole army of halla paraded over her. Wren looked down at her shoulder and the wound itself was little more than a cut at this point set within deep purple bruises underneath a wide-collared shirt. She frowned. That was not the shirt she had been wearing under her armour.

 “I’d say it’s good to be awake but its not all that fun when it feels like Fen’Harel himself stepped on you with a massively smelly paw. Also who’s shirt is this?”

“It’s one we found in the keep. Wasn’t moth-eaten so figured it would do,” chimed in Varric from somewhere to her left.

“Great.”

“I’m joking its an extra one from my pack.”

Wren’s lips twitched as Solas leaned back on his heels to grab a roll of bandages. He wound them around her shoulder with gentle hands. Never did Solas put any pressure on the bruises or drag a finger over the cut. Wren was grateful. As much as the injury itself didn’t hurt above the manageable after-healing ache, the battered feeling in her bones was best without adding extra pain.

“I was unaware you were a healer, Solas,” said Wren.

“Not a very good one, I’m afraid. I know some basics, but without training more there is little I can do. Healing without knowledge of what one is doing is dangerous with risks to both the mage and the patient.”

Solas always did know how to turn things into a lecture. Wren was only beginning to understand this about the other elf and had no idea about his ability to drone on about his point of view on topics she didn’t understand because of her lack of magical ability.

“The poison is out of my system at least?” asked Wren.

“Yes, though the arrow did some damage to the muscles in your shoulder.”

“Next time we carry more than two potions each,” grumbled Cassandra.

Wren had almost forgotten that Cassandra had been holding her up. She scrambled out of Cassandra’s hold and to her feet. The sudden movement had her head spinning but she managed to blink away the dark spots from her vision. Cassandra followed her up and hovered near her elbow until it was clear Wren wasn’t going to keel over. The rest followed. Varric had her pack and Cassandra strapped Wren’s sword to her back. She and Solas began packing up their makeshift camp and dousing the small fire that had been burning. Wren reached out to grab her pack with her good arm but Varric pushed away her hand gently.

“I think I’ll hold onto it for now, Birdie. You’ll just have to buy me some ale and tell me an embarrassing story when we get back,” said Varric.

“I’d rather take the pack,” said Wren.

Varric laughed.

“You think you actually get a choice?” Varric grinned. “I don’t see you asking for the heavy sword back.”

“That’s because Cassandra would just insist that I shouldn’t have a weapon I have no skill for. Again,” said Wren.

Varric’s eyes went past her shoulder and Wren had the feeling that Cassandra was about to behead her, but there was no whistle of sword through air. She turned around to check and Cassandra was helping Solas collect empty potion bottles and shove them into the mage’s pack. It didn’t even look like she had heard, though Varric now wore a ponderous frown. Wren cocked her head to ask a silent question, but he simply shook his head.

“We should head back to the Inquisition camp and resupply. The Herald should see a healer as well,” announced Cassandra, the last of the potion bottles having been safely packed away and the party ready to move out.

“But we’re so close! We should go to the farm and talk to the Horsemaster. We are nearly there as it is,” argued Wren.

“You are injured and we have no healing potions. What happens if we run into trouble?”

“We deal with it!”

Cassandra opened her mouth to say something else, but it was Solas who spoke next. The Seeker had two spots of colour rising in her cheeks. Wren thought a blush was pretty on her cheeks but the look of anger in Cassandra’s eyes had her cowering. Even in their short argument Wren had felt her shoulders inching up and hunching over.

“Seeker Pentaghast, if I may, we are very close to the farm, and one could assume that they might have a supply of potions to help us with our journey back. And Lavellan’s shoulder is almost healed and the poison cured, for now she runs the risk of injuring her muscles and exhaustion from the healing. I understand your concern Seeker, but she will be fine,” said Solas.

Cassandra made a disapproving noise but did not argue further. Wren led the way out of the keep and back into the valley. She felt very naked without her sword on her back and hoped they wouldn’t run into any further problems before reaching the farm, which of course meant that they definitely would.

They found the Templar encampment next to the river. Wren cursed their luck for both the camp and the river. The water flowed quickly over the large rocks of the riverbed, waiting to snatch her and dash her head on one and drag her to some unknown grave. The bridge had collapsed as well, no doubt the work of the Templars who were hiding away to the left upstream. It was almost enough to make Wren turn back, but she had insisted on finding the farm and Solas had defended her decision, so she had to follow through with it. She pointed downstream a bit further, where the could ford without being seen from the Templar camp.

The spot she picked was mostly hidden by thick bushes. Wren stopped to collect the few shoots of elfroot and spindleweed that grew on the banks before taking a deep breath and stepping into the water. It was cold. The water came up to her knees as soon as she stepped in, the icy mountain runoff seeped into her boots and numbed her feet, making every step wobbly. The current dragged at her ankles and tried to pull her off balance. Wren did not dare to breathe the whole time they waded across. As they came to the far shore Wren’s foot hit a rock slippery with moss and fell as her leg went out from under her. She flailed, rather ungracefully, hit something, and fell forward onto the bank. She grabbed at the dirt and clawed her way out of the river before looking back to see who she had hit.

It had been Cassandra. The Seeker was sitting on her ass in the river, the water flowing just over her chest, with a surprised expression and a hand cupping her face. Varric was nearly bent double with laughter. The dwarf struggled his way out of the river between bout of laughter and clapped Wren on the shoulder. Wren was mortified. She’d hit Cassandra and knocked her on her backside.

“I am so sorry,” said Wren.

Cassandra said nothing. She still looked stunned, but pulled herself out the river in an impressive feat of strength considering her full armour and two sets of weapons. Solas poked at Wren’s injured shoulder, no doubt checking that her muscles hadn’t torn in the fall, but all Wren’s attention was on the woman making her way to the bank. The bank where Wren was standing. Wren had knocked her over. Wren had knocked a heavily armed human warrior over.

Oh shit.

Wren took a step back, straight into Solas. He caught her by the bad shoulder and held her still with slight pressure on her bruises. Wren tried to shake her shoulder free but by the Dread Wolf that hurt. Then Cassandra was right in front of her. Wren had to crane her neck to look up at Cassandra’s unreadable face and prepared to be gutted or yelled at.

“I’m sorry?” she offered.

“You are stronger than you look. Good,” was all Cassandra said before she turned and walked away.

Wren felt her face heat up, and whatever expression was on it made Varric dissolve into chuckles. Wren punched him in the shoulder to make him stop. It didn’t help. He kept on grinning like the cat with the canary as he hoisted the packs higher on his shoulders and followed after Cassandra.

The rest of the journey to the farm went smoothly, barring the wolves. Three of them had jumped out of the underbrush growling and snapping like Wren had never seen. Most wolves would stay away from people, especially with all the rams and fennecs they had seen running around the Hinterlands. There was plenty of food and no reason to attack but they did. Wren jumped out of the way just in the nick of time as Varric sent a bolt through one wolf’s throat. Solas set the other two on fire and Varric followed up with two quick shots. The smell of burning hair was disgusting and they all wrinkled their noses against the smell. Solas surmised that the rifts and fade energy could have caused the strange behaviour but Cassandra scoffed and claimed them simply vicious animals. Wren knew something was up with the wolves, but both her and Varric kept quiet. Wren had the sinking feeling that if the fade could make wolves more aggressive it could do the same to people.

They made it to the edge of the farm as the sun crested over the ridge of the mountain and lit the sky with hues of orange and pink. The colours echoed vibrantly off the clouds and cast long muted shadows off the fences and trees. There were a couple paddocks and fields, though not as many crops as Wren expected. This was the main farm for Redcliff after all. In the distance Wren could make out the dark shapes of druffalo grazing in a paddock. A horse whinnied in the stables to the left and another kicked at its stall. Above the stables on a rise was a farmhouse, and Wren could see the light of candles and a fireplace within.

They decided knocking on the door in the middle of the night would not be the best approach to convince this horsemaster that they were friendly and wanted a partnership with him. There were too many things going bump in the night with the rifts open across the Hinterlands and beyond. Not to mention the wolves. Howls echoed through the trees and Wren had the uncomfortable sensation that there were eyes following their steps. The found a place to camp at the edge of the farm, close enough to see the light in the windows, far enough that they wouldn’t be thought of as bandits or worse. Distantly Wren could hear a waterfall thundering over stones and shivered. Camp was easy enough to set up: two tents and a small fire didn’t take too long. Wren felt useless as her injured shoulder ached and Solas practically ordered her to sit on a log and not help. Instead of sitting she gathered firewood, but Wren still felt like she wasn’t doing enough. She had been the one to get injured and slow them down after all. Therefore she volunteered for first watch, folding her arms and glaring the rest into submission. She rather suspected they were simply humouring her as she had never been particularly intimidating. Her lips were too full and soft, her eyes too wide and doe-like for anyone to ever be particularly terrified. For the most part the elves of Clan Lavellan simply laughed or smiled fondly when Wren’s temper flared. Getting a really big sword had helped a bit, but not much.

Wren passed the time with her bare feet close to the fire, leaning back and watching the moons dance in the sky. Her boots were slowly drying out from the wade through the river, along with Cassandra’s clothes. The wolves howled intermittently but Wren saw no dark shapes prowling the shadows on the edge of camp. The fire crackled merrily under the sound of Varric’s snores. Wren giggled as she heard him grunt, mutter something about ‘Rivaini stealing my hard earned money’ and go straight back to rhythmic snoring. Solas must sleep like the dead for it not to bother him.

She didn’t hear it when Cassandra snuck up on her. Wren jumped when Cassandra sat down on the log next to her. Cassandra looked a lot softer without all the armour on. She actually had curves under all that metal, though Wren had no doubt they were hard with muscle. She wanted to find out but there was so much in her brain saying no. The voices of the Clan were the loudest. No one in their clan had ever willingly been with a shem and no one liked the idea of it, but Wren was curious. Another voice was telling her that Cassandra was nearly twice her age and would never think of her like that simply because she was so much older. But the light of the fire on her face and dancing in her eyes made Wren’s heart flutter.

“Do you like stargazing?”

“I guess,” said Wren.

“I learned the constellations when I was young. From here you can see Draconis.”

“Where?” asked Wren.

She knew a few of the constellations, but finding them in this sky was harder since they had all moved since she had travelled south. Cassandra leaned in closer and raised a hand to trace out the constellation. Wren was glad for the darkness that hid her burning cheeks. The close proximity was doing all sorts of things to her heart. She could smell Cassandra’s own personal perfume of armour polish and the pine trees they had been walking under all day.

“It’s right up there, just above the trees. See? There’s the head and the wings,” said Cassandra in a soft voice.

“Yes I see it now!” Wren exclaimed excitedly.

“There are a few more off to the west, but they are blocked by the trees.”

They sat in silence for a while, Wren wondering why Cassandra was up at all since she had the opportunity to be peacefully sleeping right now. Wren was not going to complain about it however, seeing as Cassandra had yet to move away.

“You’re a force of nature, aren’t you,” said Wren.

“Really?”

“You must be a very large part of why we all survived today. It’s impressive.”

“You flatter me,” said Cassandra, though she didn’t sound entirely pleased by it.

“I’m trying,” said Wren truthfully.

“Did I do the right thing?”

Wren looked at her questioningly. That was a rather large question, especially without context. Cassandra noticed the look of confusion and continued.

“The Inquisition I have set in motion could destroy everything I have revered my whole life. One day they may write about me as a traitor, a madwoman. And they may be right.”

Wren pondered over the statement for a moment. It was very human, and probably dwarven, to worry about personal reputation in some distant future. The Dalish did not have very many remembered ancestors, only echoes of their forgotten culture. Wren puzzled over it before deciding to approach Cassandra on her level.

“What does your faith tell you?”

“I believe you are innocent,” said Cassandra, and Wren blinked in shock. “I believe there is more going on here than what we can conceive, and I believe no one else will do anything about it. They will stand in the fire and complain that it is hot.”

Wren giggled behind her hand. Who knew that Cassandra hid a sarcastic wit? Varric probably, but this was Wren’s first real experience of it, and she thought it suited Cassandra.

“But is this the Maker’s will? I can only guess.”

Wren simply nodded. Her faith in the elvhen gods had never been particularly strong, but neither had she ever given much thought to the Andrastian faith besides her anger at Templars. The world was to big for Wren to wrap her mind around, let alone the complicated rhetoric of religion. An owl hooted into the night and a sigh of wind shook the branches of the distant trees. Wren shivered as it passed through her, as if fingers of wind touched her bones in an icy caress. She shifted towards the dying fire a bit more, and tossed another branch onto the flames. If Cassandra noticed her discomfort she said nothing about it. For a moment more it was peaceful, but Wren wanted to extend her time with Cassandra a bit more before venturing to the tent for a rest. It was well past the end of first watch.

“So what happens now?” asked Wren.

“We deal with the Chantry’s panic over you before they do even more harm. Then we close the breach. You are the only one who can. Then we find who is responsible for the chaos and we end them. If there are consequences for my actions, I will accept them. I only pray the price is not too high.”

“You didn’t really have much of a choice.”

“Didn’t I?”

Cassandra’s tone suggested something else, some hidden emotion, but Wren couldn’t place it.

“My trainers always said: Cassandra! You are too brash. You must think before you act.”

Wren nodded in agreement, she had heard the same thing from the Keeper time and time again.

“I see what must be done and I do it. But I misjudged you in the beginning did I not? I thought the answer was before me clear as day. I cannot afford to be so careless again,” Cassandra frowned in memory of her actions and Wren rushed to reassure her.

“If someone had walked out of an explosion that killed the Keeper I would have cut off their head without asking questions. I’m glad you eventually learned restraint.”

Cassandra laughed a pretty laugh and they once more lapsed into silence. Varric snorted an ungodly sound that had Wren chuckling and Cassandra giving an amused half-smile. Wren checked her boots and they were almost dry, though the leather was cracking in places as if protesting the harsh wear of the last few weeks.

“You said you did not believe you were chosen. Does that mean you also don’t believe in the Maker?” asked Cassandra.

“Normally I’d gesture at my vallaslin and tell you about the Dalish gods, but there is something at work here I cannot identify, and although I am not prepared to believe in your Maker, it might be a possible explanation,” said Wren thoughtfully.

Cassandra’s eyes swept over her face, lingering on Sylaise’s vallaslin over her left eye. The tattoo was several shades darker than her skin, the same shade of brownish red as the freckles that dotted across her skin, looking more natural than most as it almost could have been tanned there by the sun.

“A curious thought. I have to believe you were put on this path for a reason, and I hope that one day you will share that belief. It will be interesting to see where that path leads us.”

Wren let out a jaw cracking yawn and stretched out her legs and good arm until her muscles burned from the tips of her toes to the pads of her fingers. The muscles in her wounded shoulder twinged painfully even though she was careful not to move it.

“It is long past time for your watch to be over. Go get some sleep,” said Cassandra.

Wren nodded, grabbed her boots, and slipped inside the dark tent. The dim glow of the fire through the thin material of the tent was all she had to guide her into her bedroll. Her shoulder ached against the hard earth beneath the bedroll but Wren could ignore it in favour of the warmth of the new memory she had to cherish. After all, nobody had to tell the clan about her feelings. Nobody had to know at all. It wasn’t a forever solution but for now she could hold tight to those feelings.


	6. Chapter 6

Nobody told Wren that being poisoned felt worse the next day when it was out of her system. She woke up to a splitting headache and the feeling that the clan’s whole herd of halla had been paraded up and down over her for a week straight. In fact, her shoulder felt practically fine when compared to the bone-deep ache that lingered under her skin. Solas reassured her that it would fade over time but Wren was looking for a more immediate solution. Varric suggested finding the nearest tavern but a glare from Cassandra shut down those plans. In any case they spent the better part of the next three days doing odd jobs around the farm in order for the horsemaster, a short man named Dennet, be willing to consider giving horses to the Inquisition and staying on to help train and care for them. Wren hated every single minute of it. She ached and her temper got sharper and shaper as the days wore out. Killing wolves helped but at the same time she was frustrated with the relief it brought for she was not much of a killer. It did not help that Cassandra had taken dawn watch every night since the first one so there was no more opportunity to talk with her other than the few snippets of conversation shared between the party. It wasn’t the biggest reason why the week was awful, but it was the icing on the cake.

The only consolation was that the rain held off while they ran about the countryside marking places for watchtowers and getting rid of wolves, and occasionally a group of mages. They also took out a few rams at Wren’s request to bring back to the refugees in the crossroads. Varric was a big help in bringing them down as the animals tended to flee before Wren could swing her sword at them. Soon enough they had a decent amount of meat to send back with a couple Inquisition scouts for the people at the Crossroads.

When the watchtowers were all marked out and the wolves taken care of Dennet finally agreed to send the Inquisition some horses, as well as offering the party a few to make their journey back to Haven swifter and easier. Wren thanked him and invited him to come to Haven at his earliest convenience, left the hut, and realized she’d never ridden a horse ever.

Cassandra and Solas quickly mounted up, looking like they were born in the saddle, adjusting stirrups and reins without fuss. Varric rolled his own stirrups before leading the horse over to a tall stump in the corner of the pen. He mounted up quickly and smoothly, but was not as relaxed on the back of the animal as the other two. Wren sized up the creature beside her. He certainly was handsome; he was a dark bay with a bright white blaze down his face and doe-like dark eyes. He was tall though, and Wren had only ever ridden a hart a few times before.

“Herald, what are you waiting for?” asked Cassandra.

“Nothing!” said Wren, her voice rising with her nerves.

Cassandra frowned but let it be. She steered her horse out through the open gate, followed by Solas and Varric, who rather looked like he would prefer to walk on his own to feet back to Haven than sit on a horse a minute longer. Wren agreed. She led the horse over to the same stump Varric had used and climbed on it. Then she realized the horse was too far away for her to get her leg over his back. Stirrups were unfamiliar to her. Sure she had seen them before, but the few harts the clan used had saddles without them. So she got off and did what she thought was best: pushed on the other side of the horse with all her strength. For a full second all the horse did was flick one black-tipped ear back at her, then slowly moved over until he was close enough to the stump for Wren to slide over his back.

It was a long way to the ground. That was Wren’s first thought as she sat stiffly on the horse’s back. At least it would be softer than falling in the mountains with the grass and dirt. Then the horse began to move, eager to rejoin his friends. Wren bit her lip to cover the gasp that came out at the swaying motion. Horse steps were a lot bigger than hart steps, and the motion was definitely more intense. At least the horse knew where to go as Wren wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the reins. Instead she settled for grabbing a chunk of mane and clinging to it until her knuckles went white. For a while she was content to let the horse follow the rest as she just focused on getting used to the movements.

“You okay there birdie?” asked Varric, pulling back his horse alongside hers as they reached the river.

“I think so?”

“Really? Because I think you look like a frightened nug up there.”

“Shut up,” hissed Wren through gritted teeth.

The horse whinnied and tossed his head making Wren cling to the reins and tense up. The horse responded by dancing to the side, nervous with an uncomfortable rider on his back. Wren whimpered in fear and clung to the saddle all hunched over.

“Woah! Ok Birdie deep breaths, try and relax,” Varric reached out and tried to grab the horse’s reins but missed as the horse danced away further.

At that point Solas and Cassandra turned to see what was going on. They were met with the sight of Varric trying to catch the reins of Wren’s horse as he danced and spun with the Herald clinging to his back. Cassandra made a move to go to her side, but Solas got his horse there first.

“Da’mis! Ane Atisha,” Solas said as he succeeded in grabbing the reins.

At the same time Wren bailed from the horse’s back, leaping off and rolling to her feet some distance away. Her three companions stared after her, Solas holding on to the reins of the now placid horse.

“Herald-“ began Cassandra.

“I’m sorry, It’s fine, it’s fine,” said Wren hurriedly as she brushed off the dirt and dust. Damn she had wrenched her injured shoulder again.

“Lavellan, correct me if I am wrong, but can you not ride?” asked Solas.

Wren scuffed a toe in the dirt and looked over his left shoulder. The heat in her face was probably enough of an answer but she spoke anyways.

“No.”

“I see. You did not tell us because?”

“It doesn’t matter. Can we just forget about this and move on?” Wren made to take back the reins, but Solas contimued his hold on them.

“You cannot simply get on a horse and expect it to do what you wish. You must learn. As the most experienced in the saddle Cassandra should be able to make a horsewoman out of you in no time,” said Solas.

Varric looked like Satinalia had come early. Cassandra had a scowl firmly in place on her face. She dismounted herself, all the while glaring daggers at Solas, who seemed quite oblivious to the Seeker’s wrath and instead busied himself with fumbling in the saddlebags for a handful of nuts.

Wren stood there with her hands sweaty on the reins as Cassandra approached. The woman looked her up and down before looking at the saddle. Without a word the Seeker deposited the reins of her horse in Wren’s free hand and began checking the girth and stirrups. She adjusted both before stepping back.

“Do you know what a leg-up is?” asked Cassandra.

Wren shook her head.

“You put your left leg into my hand and on three you jump and I help boost you into the saddle. Does that make sense?”

“Sure,” said Wren, not entirely certain about how this was going to work.

Cassandra let her horse’s reins dangle into the grass, but it didn’t appear to want to go anywhere.  She approached Wren, fingers laced together and knees bent. Wren awkwardly placed her leg on the lace fingers and her hands on the saddle.

“All right, on three,” said Cassandra. “One. Two. Three.”

On three Wren jumped and was boosted up by Cassandra, who had misjudged the weight of the elf even with the giant sword and nearly sent her all the way over the other side of the horse. Cassandra then began adjusting her stirrups so that Wren felt as if her legs were being scrunched up and placed the reins in her hands properly. Wren shifted in the saddle and leaned forward.

“No,” said Cassandra. “Keep your back straight and don’t tip forward. Balance in your heels.”

“In my heels?” asked Wren skeptically.

“Yes. And don’t grip with your knees either.”

“How about I just walk back to Haven?”

“I’m not sure if you have noticed, but there is a giant green hole in the sky spitting out demons. Time is of the essence here,” said Varric.

“There’s holes all over Thedas spitting out demons. What if by travelling faster we miss more of them?” Wren shot back.

“Though you may have a point, I hypothesize that closing the breach will help subdue the smaller rifts,” said Solas, effectively ending the argument.

Wren frowned, and subjected herself to a day’s worth of Cassandra’s no-nonsense riding lessons, complete with commentary from Varric and occasional input from Solas, resulting in a very grumpy elf by the time snow drifted around their horses’ legs. Wren was fairly certain her own had turned into jelly and her back would never be the same again. An hour ago her shoulder had begun protesting mildly, and all she wanted was something hot to eat and a bed. By the time they made it back to Haven the wind had picked up and blown the ever present clouds aside to let the stars light their way. In the dim light the snow glittered like jewels and echoed back the horn cry that signaled their return.

“Home sweet home,” muttered Varric.

Wren slid slowly off the horse with shaking limbs. The moment her feet touched the ground her legs gave up and buckled. She would have fallen in her ass in the snow if not for a pair of mailed arms grabbing her under the armpits and hauling her upright.

“Herald, are you all right?” asked Cassandra as she deposited Wren on her feet.

“Just tired. Your lessons were hard.”

“We’ll make a rider of you yet.”

Wren just smiled up at her. Cassandra had yet to let go of her elbow, and Wren was more than happy to take advantage and lean into her.

“Thank you,” said Wren.

“Don’t thank me quite yet. Tomorrow you will start lessons with Commander Cullen and myself in both swordplay and horsemanship. We cannot go to Val Royeux with you so untrained, it would make the Inquisition a laughingstock and our requests for aid be dismissed. Time is of the essence, so get all the rest you can, Herald. This week will be tough.”

Wren groaned. Tomorrow promised to be hellish already with sore muscles. She was expected to be up and training as well? Not a fucking chance. And the Templar Commander was to be there as well? Wren felt fear and anger surge through her veins in an icy wave.

“Why will the commander be involved in my training?” asked Wren, the ice seeping into her voice.

“Because you need a right-handed swordsman to instruct you, and because I said so. You must learn to cooperate with those you don’t like.”

Wren grit her teeth and nodded, not quite meeting Cassandra’s eyes and instead watching a soldier lead away her horse to a small lean-to stable next to the smithy. The structure wasn’t nearly sound enough. Dennet would be having kittens when he arrived and saw what they were housing his precious horses in. Maybe she should talk to someone and see if they could get a semblance of a proper stable and corral set up before the horsemaster arrived in Haven.

Behind them the wooden gates creaked open and out wandered Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen. Josephine was radiant, looking like she had just stepped out of a seaside palace in her finery rather than out of what was rapidly becoming a refugee camp. She approached them with a smile, excitedly welcoming them home and launching right into a story about some noble who promised funds to the Inquisition through her diplomatic powers and a very helpful chicken. Leliana was watching her fondly, nodding along to key parts of the story as the group made their way back into Haven and towards the Chantry. The village was lit with homey lights from inside the houses and there was merry laughter rising from the tavern. The only thing ruining the moment was Commander Cullen breathing down the back of her neck at every step. His eyes haunted her as he brought up the rear of the group. This did not go unnoticed by the rest of the group. Solas and Varric broke off from the group with worried glances but stayed quiet as Wren disappeared behind the Chantry doors with the advisors.

Their steps echoed down the candlelit Chantry. No one was offering their prayers, though one of the Sisters did poke her head out to stare as they passed. The closing of the door behind Wren sounded like a funeral bell tolling. In reality the bell high above them began ringing out the hour, each peal reminding Wren that all she wanted to do was go lie down and sleep for a week.

“Why am I here and not in my very comfy, very warm bed?” asked Wren.

“We thought you would want to have this news as soon as you came back,” said Josephine.

Clearly her new… whatever the trio was did not know her at all yet. Unless everything was on fire or someone had died, it was best to let her sleep.

“As you know, we contacted your clan while you were recovering from your encounter with the breach. They have sent back a response and we thought you should see it straightaway.”

Leliana offered an envelope and Wren practically snatched it out of her hand. The letter inside was a single page, though the Keeper’s small writing covered most of it. The first part detailed the Keeper’s reluctance to believe that the Inquisition was not holding her hostage for spying. Wren chuckled at that, for it was as much words of threat to the Inquisition as they were to her. The Keeper must have been beyond furious when she found out Wren had slipped away in the middle of the night. Probably sent a few of the hunters out after her too.

The second part of the letter on the other hand was concerning:

_Ara’da’ean, if these people do not lie and you are no prisoner, there is shadow over the clan. The chaos following these tears in the veil has given rise to chaos and fear, and many seek to take advantage. You are now representing the People among shemlen, so I had hoped not to bother you with this as well, but it is beyond us now._

_Bandits are attacking Clan Lavellan. They killed Rhea and your cousin Maelle in their attacks, and injured many more. We are, as you know, near Wycome. We had found a valley with few tears, though the bandits may force us to move as we do not have the numbers to fend them off for long. Although I have spent many years telling you swords are of little use to Clan Lavellan, we could use yours now. If you command respect among these shems you should ask them for aid. The power of this Inquisition could save Clan Lavellan. Enclosed you’ll find the totem of Clan Lavellan. Your babae had made it to give to your brother when he would become my first, but since he has passed to the Creators, we agreed it should go to you so you may keep us close._

_Dar’eth Shiral ara’da’ean,_

_Keeper Istamaethoriel Lavellan_

Wren tipped the envelope and out tumbled out a pendant on a leather thong. A deer with a full set of antlers stared up at her from where it was trapped in its circular wooden frame. It was definitely her babae’s work, delicately wrought into ironbark.

“Herald?” asked Cassandra quietly from her side.

Wren blinked back to reality and realized she was crying. She quickly scrubbed her face with her hands and plastered on a passing imitation of stoicism but it fooled no one. All she wanted to do was break, but not here, not in front of these people. Creators how she missed her clan now. She had to do something or else she might never see them again.

“I need to go home,” was all she said, the pendant gripped firmly in her palm.

“What was in the letter, Lavellan?” asked Cassandra.

“They need me,” pleaded Wren, turning her big purple eyes on Leliana and Josephine.

Leliana remained cool and unaffected in the face of Wren’s determination. Josephine on the other hand looked one second away from agreeing to let Wren disappear into the Free Marches. She opened her mouth to reply but Leliana got there first.

“If I may suggest, I can send in some of my skirmishers to provide Clan Lavellan with enough cover to retreat for the time being. These do not sound like normal bandits and I would like to investigate.”

“I could also send in some of our soldiers to fight of the bandits. My soldiers could give your clan some much-needed support,” suggested Cullen.

Wren frowned at him. Did he just not know or was he trying to kill off her clan without arousing suspicion. Dalish never fought openly like he was suggesting. Wren felt the despair in her turn to anger and practically growled at Cullen. She couldn’t help it. All she could see was Maelle’s face the day she had gotten her first proper hunting bow. She had been so excited, her round face splitting in an ear to ear grin and her black curls bouncing with her in excitement. Maelle was only a year younger than her, already a full member of the clan. When Wren had left Maelle had been making eyes at the apprentice _hahren_ in hopes to marry him. That would never happen now, and if this shem got his way, more of her clan would not see their dreams turn into happiness.

“Are you trying to get my clan killed?” Wren rounded on him with all the fury her five-foot-maybe-two stature could provide. To her credit he did take a step back.

“No, I meant nothing of the sort,” he stammered.

“Then why would you suggest sending my clan into open war with the bandits with nothing more than a few green soldiers as their support. Have you ever seen an elvhen army Commander?”

“No.”

“That’s because there are none. My people are peaceful, they can’t go into war. They do not have the training. Let Leliana send her people. Let the clan retreat.”

Silence followed Wren’s rant. She felt better after letting it all out, and suspected the others were beginning to peg her as quick to anger. She wasn’t, she was just on edge with the Templar and upset about her clan. She was only nineteen after all, an adult within the clan, but to these humans she was most likely still considered something of a child.

“I am sorry, Herald. Please forgive my mistake,” said Cullen, and Wren could almost believe the sincerity in his deep brown eyes.

The mailed hand reaching for her shoulder however, that she did not. For a brief moment it was not the soft-spoken and apologetic Commander before her, it was another man wearing bloody Templar armour and a twisted grin on a pockmarked face. Wren jumped backwards from him and practically landed on Cassandra.

“Don’t touch me!”

Cullen stood there with his hand still out, the pockmarked man disappearing as Wren blinked. The pendant had fallen from her grasp and rolled across the floor. It tapped Cullen’s boot before falling aside. He gently picked it up and offered it to her, palm up to show no malice in his actions. Wren reddened with embarrassment for her outburst but snatched up the pendant.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Herald, I–“ began Leliana, but Wren cut her off.

“I’m sorry, but I’m tired, and I think I should retire for the night. Leliana could you please tell me as soon as you send your people to the Free Marches?”

With that Wren beat a hasty retreat to her small cabin. Nobody came knocking at the door, and Wren was grateful. She sat rereading the letter and holding the pendant until the candle flame met holder and drowned in the wax. She stayed sitting at the small desk for a lot longer in the dark, wishing to be home with her clan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have gone a little overboard on the horse part, but man I've been riding for 14ish years now and I just love talking about it. Once I start I can't stop. Also it made me scream a bit in game when Dennet tells you your horse is a chestnut when it is clearly a bay. Come on bro, you're supposed to be the expert!!!
> 
> For those who are curious, the Keeper calls Wren "little bird" in her letter.
> 
> For those of you who don't know, I have another DA series on here thats Dorian/Lavellan, which is the story of Wren's twin brother if he had lived and Wren had died. There will be references to things from those stories, but not a lot. If you're curious, check them out! (yes shameless self promo i'm terrible).


	7. Chapter 7

Cassandra was both a gruelling and fair teacher. She had awoken Wren an hour after dawn and dragged her half-awake to the makeshift stable. Toast and a hard boiled egg found their way into Wren’s hands and she absently munched, not having much of an appetite in her sleepy state. Her muscles protested use after yesterday’s ride and the heaviness of the pendant around her neck weighed down her spirits. The horses were standing quietly together, looking about as awake as Wren felt. Someone had recently filled up their water buckets. Hay was scarce so far in the mountains, but Wren had no doubt they would be receiving several wagon loads of it in the next few days. Cassandra grabbed the horse Dennet had given Wren by the halter and tied on a rope. She led it over to Wren, who stood nervously, shuffling from foot to foot.

“The first part of our lesson will be tacking up,” said Cassandra.

“Why? Won’t the scouts help us out when we go out?” asked Wren.

“Sometimes we will be places where there are no scouts, or where there is no time to wait for your horse to be saddled by someone else.”

“Then I would just go on foot.”

“These lessons are non-negotiable.”

“Damn.”

The lesson went on for hours. Luckily the horse had patience in spades. He stood while Wren learned to properly groom him and pick out his feet, repeating the motions again and again until Cassandra was satisfied. The smallest fleck of dust on his coat was apparently offensive to the warrior’s eagle like eyes, but everything was also met with words of praise. It was comfortable to work with Cassandra like this, with the sun rising over the distant mountains and Haven coming alive as people took up their work.

The saddle took Wren five tries to get on properly. The first try she couldn’t even heave it over the horse’s back. She wasn’t prepared for it to be so heavy and it simply bonked into the horse’s side and back into her, causing him to dance sideways and dump the saddle blanket onto the ground. Then it was the straps. How could Wren get the girth tight enough if the horse sucked all that damn air into his belly? Cassandra sure thought there was a way but Wren was still waiting for her to share the secret.

Eventually Wren was allowed to get on the horse. She sat there with her feet dangling until Cassandra placed them in the stirrups and manipulated them into the proper position with strong yet gentle hands.

“Try and keep your weight in your heels, remember,” said Cassandra.

“How come you’re teaching me and not some soldier?” asked Wren.

Now, she was grateful, and more than a little happy that she was spending time one-on-one with the Seeker, but it also didn’t seem quite right.

“Put the reins between your ring and pinky finger. You won’t always hold the reins like this, especially in combat, but its easier to learn this way.”

Wren’s fingers wrapped clumsily around the reins.

“There, now tighten them so you can feel tension against his mouth, but not enough to pull. There, yes,” Cassandra smiled in praise and took the horse by the noseband of the bridle and began leading Wren slowly down the road.

“When did you learn to ride?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I want to get to know you better,” said Wren truthfully.

“Why?”

“Is there anything wrong with us getting a little closer?” Wren let her voice dip into its lower, flirtier pitches.

Cassandra gave her a sidelong glance and Wren did her damnedest to keep the blush out of her face.

“I learned to ride when I was very young. My parents didn’t want me to learn so early, nor did they want me to learn to sit astride. They were old fashioned and believed ladies should ride side-saddle, but my brother Anthony refused to learn unless I could too.”

“Are you nobility then?”

Cassandra did a double take at Wren’s question and frowned. It was as though she had never heard the question before in her life.

“You didn’t know?”

“Know what. Remember, I’m one of those _wild_ Dalish elves, utterly uncivilized and removed from proper society,” Wren said with a smile.

“Right. Of course. The Pentaghasts are the largest noble family in Nevarra. I am 78th in line for the throne,” said Cassandra, mouth twisting in distate.

Wren sat bolt upright on the horse, accidentally pulling on the horse’s mouth and causing him to toss his head away from Cassandra’s grasp.

“You’re royalty!”

“Only distantly.”

“You should be leading this Inquisition with a crown on your head. I feel bad about dropping your title now,” Wren fretted and blushed, unsure of herself in the presence of human royalty. The Seeker was a Creators-damned princess. Her heart sank, an elf would never be allowed to get involved with royalty, no matter how much she would have wanted it.

“No, don’t start fussing. I have about as much chance as you do of ever getting on the throne. Not that I want it. I think I would just let my cousins fight over it instead.”

Wren laughed and let herself relax. They turned with the road around the lake and Wren sucked in a breath of cold mountain air. It was an icy burn in her lungs and a shot of straight adrenaline to her tired body. The sound of the horse’s hooves crunching in the snow and frozen dirt filled up her ears as they rounded the far side of the lake. Across it Haven looked picturesque. Or it would have if not for the soldiers running through combat drills in front of the gates. At the highest point of the village the chantry stood proudly, the house of the Maker larger and more magnificent than the houses of the living.

“How did you get to be the Right Hand of the Divine anyhow. Leliana probably killed all her competition so I can see how she became the Left Hand, but you?” asked Wren, still watching the chantry.

“What does that mean?”

“Well, you’re very religious yes, and amazing with a sword, but you don’t seem like someone who would get caught up in Chantry politics,” said Wren.

“You haven’t known me that long,” said Cassandra.

“True.”

“And it is a long story, one that gets bigger every time someone else tells it. I can barely recognize the truth of the events or myself in it now. The short version is that I saved the life of Divine Beatrix and she gave me the title for it,” said Cassanra.

“Pity,” said Wren, “I love stories.”

“You’ll have to find someone else, it has been almost twenty years since it happened and if I have to tell it one more time then I might just explode,” said Cassandra.

Wren let her eyes trail up to where the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes lay hidden beneath snow far up to the right of Haven, almost hidden by the peak of one of the many mountains surrounding it.

“Poor choice of words,” mused Wren.

Cassandra frowned and fixed Wren’s position once again.

“How about you try a little trot? When you get bounced up, stand up. It will help you not bounce out of the saddle. As he takes his next step, sit gently. I will stay beside you the whole time.”

“Uh,” was all Wren could say before Cassandra began jogging, the horse jogging alongside her.

The horse’s movements were anything but graceful. The animal tried to bounce her out of the tack at with every step until she remembered Cassandra’s advice about standing up. Even then, how was she supposed to coordinate her movements with the horse’s erratic steps? Wren loudly and eloquently expressed her feelings with the new gait:

“FUUUCK!” she cried as she toppled off the side of the horse and landed with an indelicate thump face first in a snowbank.

It was cold. Wren barely had time to register it before she was being yanked out of the snow by the back of her jacket. She sputtered and twisted out of Cassandra’s grasp. Flakes of snow clung to her eyelashes and hair and Wren did her best to brush them off.

“Herald! Are you all right?” asked Cassandra worriedly.

“I’m fine, snow is soft.”

“Good, then get back on the horse.”

“What?” asked Wren, incredulous.

The horse in question stood behind Cassandra patiently. His dark brown coat made him stand out like a sore thumb against the white landscape. At least the damn horse looked a bit apologetic.

“First rule of falling off: if nothing is broken, you get back on.”

“A terrible rule,” said Wren, but she was grinning.

“Don’t worry, we wont try trotting again. But you will ride all the way back.”

Wren conceded, and let Cassandra boost her into the saddle. The walk back was slow, though Wren eventually relaxed enough to release her death grip on the reins and even pat the horse a bit. His brown fur was short and rough and his inky black mane was anything but silky, like knights’ horses were supposed to be. She figured that was because she was not even close to being a knight. She probably didn’t even measure up to a squire come to think of it. All she had was the mark on her hand which was both slowly eating away at her and the only reason she was still alive.

Wren shook her head of those thoughts as they rounded back to the main road. A fresh-faced dwarven recruit was happily scurrying around the smithy as the smith in question barked short, stressed orders as they passed. Wren smiled at the dwarf’s antics as she slid off the horse, landing hard and stumbling backwards a few steps. Her legs still felt wobbly from yesterday.

“Steady. Now you will untack him and brush him down,” ordered Cassandra as she leaned against the fence to watch.

Wren began removing the saddle and bridle, noting that underneath the horse had not even so much as broke a sweat from the ride. She glared at the horse. If she was sweaty from the exercise he should be too. Wren began dutifully rubbing him down to the best of her abilities under Cassandra’s hawk eyes.

“It occurs to me I don’t actually know that much about you,” started Cassandra.

“Really? I would have thought our lovely spymaster would know everything about me by now.”

“If she has I wouldn’t know. I’d prefer to learn about you from you,” replied Cassandra.

“Oh,” said Wren dumbly.

For a few moments there was just the sound of the brush against the horse’s fur.

“What would you like to know?” asked Wren timidly. She wasn’t used to this sort of questioning still, even after spending so much time with the new Inquisition.

“Where are you from?”

“You know that already!” laughed Wren.

“Yes, but where in the Free Marches?”

“Clan Lavellan is from all over. We wander from city to city to deal and trade with the humans. I was born near the Tevinter border. We’ve not gone that close to Tevinter in a long time though. Too many slavers.”

“All over the Free Marches and yet you cannot ride,” said Cassandra, and Wren was unsure if she was teasing or not.

“Shut up. We can’t afford to keep horses. The best we have are a couple of sturdy harts, and I wasn’t allowed to ride those.”

Wren picked up the horse’s foot and began digging out pebbles and snow with a pick. The horse tried to put his foot down again, but Wren pushed her shoulder into his belly to force him to keep his weight on the other side.

“Are you eager to go back?” asked Cassandra.

“I’m the only one who can close the rifts right? I couldn’t go back even if I wanted to.”

Cassandra hummed and thought of a new line of questioning as Wren moved to the next foot.

“So you have been through Kirkwall?” asked Cassandra.

Wren stiffened and dropped the horse’s foot. It almost landed on her own and she danced backwards out of range.

“Why do you care about that?”

“Considering what just happened there I would like to know if there were signs you could see from your travels through there.”

Wren hummed in consideration. Cassandra hadn’t moved from her place against the fence, but her nonchalance was transparent. The woman was eager for an answer and Wren didn’t know what she wanted to hear. She bent back down to pick up the next foot before she could get too distracted by the snow catching on Cassandra’s braid crown. The image of flowers woven into that braid instead popped into Wren’s head. The warrior in her mind’s eye looked utterly beautiful and relaxed. The real and very tense warrior remained behind her.

“Herald?” prompted Cassandra.

“Have you ever worn flowers in your hair?”

“Pardon?”

“You’d look quite beautiful with flowers in your hair,” said Wren before she could rein in her thoughts.

Then she blushed wildly and turned around with her hands raised.

“Sorry, um. Kirkwall’s always been a bit of a mess. Every clan knew to be wary of the Templars. They didn’t stay in the Gallows like you would think. They also wandered about on the roads near the city, and didn’t always care if the people they caught were mages.”

Cassandra nodded thoughtfully.

“You don’t care much for Templars.”

Wren rolled her eyes. Come on, that much was obvious. She turned back to the horse, one hand scubbing through her short auburn hair. It was getting a bit long again, she’d have to cut it soon.

“Is that why you are so cold towards Commander Cullen?”

“A dog learns to bite any hand if it is hit by a few.”

“Please don’t go biting the head of our forces,” said Cassandra, again with that tone where Wren couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.

“I’ll only toss him on his arse with my sword,” said Wren with a fierce grin.

That promise was broken quickly.

Wren did not get to toss the Commander on his arse. In fact, she did not even come close to disarming him even once. However she gave him a fierce duel that ended with Varric clapping and whistling from a perch on the stone wall nearby. Both Wren and Cullen’s swords lay some distance away, torn from their hands in a deft flick of Wren’s wrists. The Commander had thrown his weight against her at the last minute and Wren was tossed on her arse into the snow.

“Way to go Birdie!” called Varric, before disappearing back into Haven’s walls as Cassandra glared at him from across the training yard.

The show was clearly over, neither party made any attempt to reclaim their sword for another match. Wren was doing her best to get her breathing under control when a gauntleted hand appeared in her vision. She looked up to find it attached to the fur-covered shoulders of Commander Cullen.

“Don’t touch me!” barked Wren as she slapped the hand away and crawled backwards on her hands.

“I’m sorry. Please, let me help you up,” said Cullen, staying where he was but not lowering the hand.

“I do not want your help,” said Wren as she stood and brushed off the few flakes determined to cling to her armour.

“I do not think you are incapable,” said Cullen.

“Thank you for your assistance with my swordplay Commander, I will let you get back to your duties.”

Wren fetched her sword and began marching up the worn dirt and snow track into Haven. She was rather proud of herself for being so civil. The truth was she didn’t know whether to approach the Templar with fear or anger. Both responses had been engraved into her bones for so long. Wren kicked at a loose stone as Cullen’s voice chased after her.

“Herald wait!”

Wren stopped, let out a very slow breath, and turned around.

“Yes?”

“Sorry, but we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. If I could perhaps have a chance to explain myself?” asked Cullen with puppy-dog eyes.

“So sorry, but I have an appointment with our spymaster. Perhaps later Commander.”

Wren turned to go but a large hand grabbed her around the arm and pulled her back.

“It would only be a moment of your time.”

“Let me go,” said Wren.

“I know that I was a Templar, and from Kirkwall no less.”

“Let. Me. Go.”

“-But I know what happened there was wrong. I hated what my fellow Templars did. I know you carry some sort of grudge against them but please remember I chose to quit that life.”

“Let me go!” roared Wren, wrenching her arm out of his grasp and decking him across the face with the other.

She didn’t break her promise after all. The Commander fell backwards onto the dirt and snow road mostly from shock with a hand clasped around his red and swelling cheek. Wren had been wearing her gauntlets after all. Wren went through every emotion from satisfaction to guilt in about three seconds. This was also enough time to realize that everyone in the training yard had stopped whatever they were doing in order to stare at the Commander having been thrown to the ground by a tiny elf half his size. Wren felt herself go beet red. She stammered out an apology before fleeing inside the walls. She missed Cassandra approaching the Commander with a stormy look on her face.

Wren threw herself into planning the trip to Val Royeux. There was lots of talk about safe travel through the Emprise du Lion, which according to Leliana’s notes had been experiencing a lot of rogue Templar activity and there were rumours of red lyrium as well. Varric had provided them with as much information as he had on the red lyrium, but the substance was still a mystery. She still had riding lessons with Cassandra, and had even worked her way up to a trot without falling. The two of them talked a lot during that time and Wren was glad to think she was becoming close to the older woman. Every touch to correct her position sent jolts through her heart.

Training with Cullen on the other hand was an entirely different affair. He began to treat her like she might break. Not with his sword, but with his actions and words. It was grating to be treated so gently when the others all treated her with gruff care. It was as if he believed she was doomed to fail no matter what she tried. Wren tried to make up for it by sparring as viciously as she could, using both the new techniques and forms he was teaching her and the dirty tricks she had picked up from living a life among hunters who fought dirty.

Josephine meanwhile was trying to teach Wren the proper ways to address nobility in Val Royeux, as well as pretty mannerisms. So far she had a little success, with Wren being eager to learn how to cause the least offence to the group of humans that saw taking offence as a legitimate pastime. Wren couldn’t get the grasp of curtsies though, and spent several hours tripping over her feet and being generally ungraceful much to Josephine’s dismay before they figured out that perhaps, since Wren was going to be wearing her armour anyway, it might be best for her to learn the different bows instead. Leliana more often than not showed up to the lessons and gave pointers when Josephine stopped for breath. At first Wren wondered why Leliana might be showing up to the etiquette lessons, but then she caught the spymaster staring at Josephine like she was the one who made the world spin and understood. They had no barriers but their work however, and Wren envied them for it.

The next meeting in the back room of the chantry over what had lovingly been titled the war table was early on a sunny morning the day before Wren planned to leave for Orlais. She was trying to get Cullen’s men to go on what would ostensibly be a mission to find an old Avaar weapon, but really it would be to parade about a strong force in bright and shiny armour to dissuade the mages and the Templars in the area from completely tearing it apart. The hard part was trying to do all of this without actually talking to the man. Eventually she talked her way around it enough that Leliana openly suggested it and Cullen readily agreed.

“Leliana I think you should send scouts to the Storm Coast. Whoever tore a hole in the sky might try to set up a port to quickly come and go from Fereldan,” said Wren as she stared at the map.

“It shall be done,” said Leliana.

“I only meant it as a suggestion…” muttered Wren, though she was pleased Leliana agreed.

The topic then turned to the Inquisition’s journey to Val Royeux. Wren thought she didn’t need a full compliment of soldiers, thank you very much Commander.

“I will accompany the Herald,” said Cassandra.

“Thank you,” said Wren, slightly stunned by the outburst.

The other advisors were all looking at Cassandra with the same confused look. It had been assumed by all of them that Cassandra would accompany Wren on her trip. Though Leliana’s confusion quickly morphed into a knowing grin before regaining her mask of indifference.

“Someone needs to keep an eye on her, and I must see for myself what the Orlesian Chantry has to say.”

“No need to explain yourself, Cassandra. We all understand,” said Leliana, rather looking like the cat that got the songbird before turning back to the rest of them like the expression never crossed her face.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise in response.

“Well, if that’s everything, I’d call this meeting done,” said Wren, trying to break the tension that had popped into the air.

The others assented and they dispersed out into Haven to their familiar haunts. Wren waited a moment before knocking on Josephine’s door.

“Herald, come in,” said Josephine, looking up from the pile of letters and reports on her desk.

Wren stepped into the room. It was dark and dull by comparison to the rest of the chantry but Josephine’s personal touches gave it a little warmth.

“Has anyone been giving you a hard time?” asked Josephine when Wren did not immediately begin to speak.

“No! Well I’ve heard a few whispers of knife-ear but-“

“I am sorry. I will do my best to stop them,” said Josephine eagerly.

“Oh, don’t waste your time on that. Words won’t change their opinions overnight. I wanted to ask if you had any books on human cultures. I’ve spent so much of my life in the Free Marches and among my own people I know almost nothing about the people I am living with.”

Josephine was caught off guard but also elated by the request, if the look on her face was anything to go by. She immediately fetched three volumes off the shelf behind her and shoved them (with more force than Wren thought the small woman could manage) into her chest.

“This one is on Orlais only, though this one is about both Orlesian and Ferelden culture. This one is about Antiva, though it might not be suitable come to think of it. You cannot read Antivan. My mistake,” Josephine took back the biggest book.

“Thank you very much. It will be an excellent start.”

Wren left with two books and a smile on her face. After all, in one of them there had to be something about courting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of quick update? Not much else to do when your sick and you use this as a way to free yourself from assignment/midterm hell. 
> 
> Any thoughts on the story so far guys? Too slow? Too fast? Where the fuck is the romance I was promised?? let me know!


	8. Chapter 8

There was nothing about courting. There was something in there about tokens and tourneys and other Orlesian bullshit that all seemed very time and place specific, but there was nothing about simple human ways to say “hello, I would like to pledge myself to you, please accept my feelings”. Wren had stayed up all night pouring over the books with her abdomen intermittently twinging, a feeling she had grown used to in recent weeks. She had yet to have an attack like the one before the expedition to the Hinterlands but there were random bursts of pain from time to time. Some left her breathless, others were a mere uncomfortable twinge.

As such, Wren was a bit grumbly when tacking up and riding out. Cassandra rode next to her for a bit before the Herald’s prickly attitude sent her riding ahead where Varric began torturing her with extravagant tales of Kirkwall’s Champion. This one involved Hawke’s mabari taking down a squad of slavers all by himself. Wren didn’t doubt a mabari’s fierceness, but it was doubtful that Hawke and her friends would stand idly by when there were slavers to kill. By midday Wren had perked up and began thinking about Dalish courting. Usually it involved finding a worthy gift for the other, or making one. Wren had a little skill as a whittler, but not enough confidence that she could make something worthy. And what could she buy that Cassandra did not already have, what with her being nobility and all.

Thinking about what gift would be suitable passed the time as they passed through the Emprise du Lion and through Orlais to Val Royeaux. The whole trip took them three nights but no one complained as it was warmer once they crossed the Frostbacks and the sky held no sign of rain. On the last night of camping Wren sat out under the clear sky for a long time, polishing her sword rhythmically but not paying attention to what her hands were doing.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” came a voice from behind.

Cassandra was peeling herself out of the tent with a yawn. Her braid had been unpinned from around her head and trailed loosely over her shoulder. It was not a bad look, though Wren was a bit surprised. It seemed like Cassandra was the type to never be seen with her hair down, but here she was, buckling on her breastplate and strapping her sword to her hip with the braid trailing down. With that and the firelight Cassandra looked, well Wren wouldn’t say younger exactly. Softer maybe.

“I don’t think it’s the point of the watch to sleep,” said Wren with a smile. “Besides, what are you doing awake? We had agreed I was going to wake Solas next.”

“I couldn’t sleep. I am hopeful that the Chantry and the Templars will lend their aid to the Inquisition, but I am nervous as well. There have most likely been rumours about you and since this is Orlais, none of them will be flattering.”

“No one wants to believe in the Herald of their beloved Andraste?” guessed Wren.

“No one wants to believe she is an elf,” said Cassandra, almost with an air of apology.

“I see.”

Wren ran the cloth down the sword, feeling the soft cloth slide smoothly down the blade. Of course it was the elf thing. She was more likely to be believed a slave than be anyone of importance.

“They will understand when they see you,” said Cassandra with conviction.

“Oh?”

“Yes, there is something about you that people like. You are strong, and brave. Though what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes was a tragedy, I am glad it was you who walked out of the ruins,” confessed Cassandra.

Wren’s heart was hammering in her chest. Was this happening or had she really fallen asleep? Cassandra was complimenting her, saying she was glad Wren was with her, and the elf was ready to believe she had died but for the loud wild thumping of her poor heart.

“I-I’m touched,” said Wren, breathless.

“No, I was just –ugh. What were you thinking about before I came out here?” asked Cassandra after stumbling over her words.

Wren had to think about it. Cassandra saying that she admired her had quite succeeded in derailing whatever she had thought about before the woman had peeled herself out of the tent.

“I was thinking about the stars.”

“What about the stars?” asked Cassandra.

“It’s an old story. There were once six elves who one day discovered a mysterious fruit when they were out gathering for their clan. They ate the fruit, not knowing that although it was the sweetest thing they had ever tasted they were cursed the moment it touched their lips. For the fruit belonged to the Evanuris, and anyone who ate it would be marked as the enemies of the gods. When they realized what they had done they went back to their clan and begged their aid, but the clan would not take them in so marked. So the elves were cast out from their clan and they roamed the forests weeping. They wandered for years without their tears for their lost clan ever stopping until Mythal had pity on the elves and to hide them from the wrath of the other gods, turned them into stars and placed them together in the heavens so that they would find a new clan among their new brethren. During this time the six elves’ six lovers had left the clan to search for their _vhenan_ , for there is no home without heart. They called and called until they had no voices, and still they searched for a sign. When they gazed up at the stars one night and saw six new lights shining brighter than any other they realized what had happened. They climbed the highest mountain and jumped into the sky, but still they could not find their lovers. Mythal made sure they would never find their _vhenan_ as punishment for them not coming to their aid when the clan exiled them. You can see them there, closer to the horizon where no stars come near.”

Wren pointed to a cluster of stars near the eastern horizon and it was true, they were alone in their region of the sky.

“It’s a sad story,” said Cassandra after a long while.

“It is, but it is also happy.”

“How so?”

“The cursed elves found out that their clan was not the safe haven it was supposed to be, and they got taken in by a new clan that will cherish them forever,” said Wren.

“You’re better at telling stories than Varric is,” said Cassandra.

“Only because you haven’t heard them before. To any other Dalish elf I’d be a regular repetitive _hahren_. At least Varric adds some dramatic flair.”

“A little too much in my opinion,” said Cassandra with a sniff.

“Then I’ll have to tell you more of mine sometime, but for now I think I will go to bed,” said Wren as she slid her sword back into its scabbard.

“I look forward to it. Sleep well,” said Cassandra with a smile.

Wren nodded and slipped into the tent. Outside Cassandra took up the position of staring up at the stars.

Val Royeaux itself was both incredibly beautiful and terrifying. Wren was immediately put on edge when people passed her and stared with murderous looks. She was rather reminded of being paraded in front of the village of Haven by Cassandra after the Temple exploded. Wren nearly jumped out of her skin when a woman screamed and fled in the opposite direction. Her face warmed in shame and she looked down at her feet.

“Don’t worry about it Birdie, Orlesians love to be overdramatic,” said Varric with a comforting hand on her upper arm.

The whole day got messier from there. In the city’s central square the Chantry had set up a platform and a Revered Mother was preaching against the Inquisition. Wren tried to square her shoulders and hold her head high against the slander but knew her face gave her away. Her companions at her back helped immeasurably. Varric and Cassandra stood like sentries at her sides and behind her stood Solas, tall and strong.

Then the Templars showed up led by a man Cassandra named as Lord Seeker Lucius. And if their presence wasn’t strange in itself the man walked straight up to the Revered Mother and punched her hard across the jaw. The elderly woman crumpled under the force of the blow and fell senseless to the stage. Wren jumped at the blow and was quite sure that the Seeker had killed her. The crowd thinned as some fled and some stayed, eager to see what would happen like those fascinated by a hanging. Wren was antsy. She wanted to go too, but knew she couldn’t. She also wanted to deck the Seeker for hitting an old woman, but that would not look very good for the Inquisition.

Then Lord Seeker Lucius declared that all Templar forces were being pulled out of Val Royeaux and stormed off, followed by the Templars. So much for help from the Chantry. The crowds dispersed and the party was left standing alone in the centre of the square blinking like idiots in the wake of what had just happened.

“Well, that could have gone a lot better,” said Wren.

“You got that right Birdie. What should we do now?” asked Varric.

“Nothing to do but go back I guess,” replied Wren.

Cassandra said nothing. She was deep in thought with her brows furrowed. Wren didn’t blame her, the Seeker was part of her order and it had probably come as a shock for him to act in such a way. Solas agreed with the decision to leave, or at least to get out of the city before their presence could cause a commotion.

That idea was cut rather short by an arrow whizzing right past Wren’s nose, way too close for comfort. She jumped back with a hand flying to her sword and heard Cassandra’s sword sliding out of its sheath and Varric’s crossbow being drawn.

“Herald! Are you all right?” asked Cassandra, eyes worried as they glanced over Wren.

Wren nodded and everyone let the tension drop. They all remembered the incident in the Hinterlands and the sight of Wren collapsing with an arrow in her shoulder and did not want a repeat experience. Wren sighted up to where the arrow would have been shot from but the rooftop was empty.

“There’s something attached to it,” said Wren, crouching by the arrow.

It was a note, covered in doodles of bees and flowers though written with an elegant enough hand. It warned of some hidden danger in Val Royeaux, as if the city hadn’t already proven itself dangerous, though there was something about it that piqued Wren’s curiosity. Wren kept the note, and they had yet to go more then ten paces before Wren was approached by a man in a mask with an invitation to a soiree at the house of someone named Madame de Fer later that evening.

“You’re a popular girl, Birdie,” said Varric, though he was frowning as he read over the notes.

“Trap?” asked Wren.

“It is more than likely,” said Solas.

“We should check them out anyways, just in case,” said Wren.

The others reluctantly agreed and spent the afternoon collecting the red tokens from around the city. Wren made a brief stop at an armour store after a bit of flash in the window caught her eye. She slipped inside without the party being any the wiser, and resisting the call of the pretty engraved breastplate wrought in dawnstone depicting the Hero of Ferelden defeating the archdemon. With several longing glances that the shopkeeper tried to exploit, Wren bought what she had seen in the window and left before the others could notice she was gone.  She pocketed her purchase happily. Hopefully Cassandra would like it, for Wren intended it to be a gift for her. She bounced back to the group with a smile on her face, excited to find an opportunity to give it.

The happy excitement dissipated in Madame de Fer’s ballroom. The doorman would only let Wren in, leaving the others to wait outside the mansion and Wren to enter the unfamiliar playing field alone. The current fashion of wearing masks was unnerving. The room was full of people making comments behind the anonymity of their masks. Some were beautifully decorated; others were made to look quite frightening. Wren did not know what to do with herself as the party seemed to close in around her and the dark eyes in the masks followed her around the room.

A man with a funny hat and a half-face mask came striding down the stairs towards Wren with swagger in his step, loudly declaring the Inquisition to be full of outcasts trying to seize power in a time of political turmoil and ended his speech by challenging Wren to a duel. The moment the man went for his sword however he was turned into a great block of ice.

The first thing Wren learned about Vivienne de Fer was that she was a mage. The second was that she knew how to make an entrance. Madame de Fer was as beautiful and cold as her ice. She was ruthless with her words and as cutthroat in theory, as she asked Wren if she’d like the Marquis dead or not. Wren timidly asked her to let him go, and the result was Madame de Fer’s agreement to joining the Inquisition.

The night was not over with the Madame’s agreement to meet the Inquisition in Haven in a week’s time. Wren slipped out of the soiree to rejoin her companions, relishing being away from so many hidden eyes and ears. The friend of Red Jenny that they were suposed to be meeting turned out to be a spitfire elf named Sera. The girl was handy with a bow. Wren was impressed with her aim right away. Wren and Varric both instantly took a liking to Sera when she mentioned stealing the pants from a mercenary gang and then the gang showed up pantless. The three of them were rolling in laughter while Solas tried his best to look like he was not affiliated with them at all, while Cassandra made her trademark disgusted noise and crossed her arms in disapproval. Wren swore she could see a smile tugging at her lips though.

They slept in Sera’s hideout. It was quite a comfortable space in the attic of a mansion accessible from the second market level. The inside was strewn with pilfered pillows and blankets and there were a dozen lamps that filled the space with soft light. There was the lingering scent of incense in the air, a deep and earthy smell that clung to the fabrics in the room. A small window covered over with a swatch of soft lace looked out over the calm waters of the harbour. It was cosy. The small room was cramped with the five of them and it reminded Wren of her family’s aravel. She immediately snagged three large pillows and a soft knitted blanket and curled up like a cat with her head on her hands. Her purple eyes roamed around the room sleepily and saw Solas reading a small worn book with a smile, staff leaning against the wall beside him. Cassandra was lying on her own pile of pillows, trying her hardest not to look like she was listening to Varric as he regaled Sera with the story of the Inquisition so far. Wren didn’t remember single-handedly taking down a Templar Commander and a gang of rebel mages at the same time, but Sera was enthralled by the tale. Wren fell asleep to the happy glow in the room with a smile.

The next morning was a mess. Sera did not like being woken up before noon they found out. The elf was kicking and fussing when they tried to rouse her. Blonde hair stuck up in wild cowlicks as she called them more colourful names than Wren could have thought up fully awake, let alone half asleep. Then Sera whined about leaving her nest’s blankets and pillows behind. Wren had to promise to get her as many pillows as her heart desired before Sera agreed to leave with only what she herself could carry.

“Tell me again Herald, why we are bringing her along?” asked Cassanra as Sera made some lewd comment to Solas.

“Oh I think she’ll liven the place up a bit. For trying to save the world the Inquisition seems to be a very grim lot,” Wren sassed back.

Wren had let Sera ride her horse, content to walk beside Cassandra’s horse for the time being. Cassandra had objected at first, but gave in once Wren had actually boosted Sera onto the animal. Wren had no issue with walking as far as a horse could carry them and was happy to travel on her own two feet. As they walked Wren remembered the gift she had purchased for Cassandra was sitting in her pocket instead of her pack, which was tied onto Varric’s saddle. Now would be a perfect time, with the others riding ahead and being destracted by Sera and Varric trying to outdo each other in raunchy stories. Varric’s tale of Isabela and a bar full of Templars was winning.

“Cassandra, give me your hand and close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Just do it,” said Wren.

Cassandra did as she was told and shut her eyes and stretched out a hand to Wren. Gently Wren slipped the coils of the gift into Cassandra’s hand.

“Okay, you may open your eyes.”

Cassandra looked down to discover a thin length of leather dotted with spikes.

“It’s for your braid, in case anyone tries to grab it in a fight,” Wren supplied at Cassandra’s confused look. “I figured since you are always looking out for me, perhaps I could do something to look out for you.”

“Thank you, Lavellan,” said Cassandra sincerely with a smile.

Wren smiled back, supressing the urge to jump straight up into the air and scream in triumph. The next morning Wren smiled to herself as she watched Cassandra braid the spiked piece of leather into her dark hair.

The only other incident of note on the way back to Haven would later be known as the first of the Bear Incidents, or, why Varric And Sera Are Not Allowed To Have Archery Competitions While On Expedition. They were nearing the edge of the Frostbacks and marching through the northern tip of the large expanse of forest known as the Emerald Graves when Sera began taunting Varric’s crossbow skills.

“Bet you can’t even hit a man between the legs with that thing. Sure it’s got power and it’s pretty, but it ain’t worth much for bein’ stealthy or anythin’.”

“You wound me Buttercup! Bianca can shoot a bug on a tree if I ask her to,” cried Varric indignantly.

“Yeah? Bet you ten silvers can’t hit a leaf off a tree!”

“Want to try me?”

“You’re on!”

Varric pulled out Bianca and loaded a bolt.

“Just name me a target.”

“You see that tree, the one that looks like a sheep got electrocuted, yeah? Branch on the right that sticks out a bit, the leaf on the end. Nice and easy for you,” said Sera, pointing at the tree with delight.

Wren had no idea which tree they were talking about as this was a very dense forest and being so meant there were a lot of trees that all looked exactly the same. Varric had no trouble with Sera’s description for he, still seated on his moving horse, brought the crossbow up, sighted, and let loose the bolt and hit the leaf square through the centre. Wren and Sera cheered, even Solas managed some polite applause.

“Thank you, now pay up Buttercup!” Varric held out a hand.

Sera grinned and dug around in her pack before the scrub where the bolt had disappeared began moving. Wren spotted it first and tensed. There were only so many animals in the forest that size and Wren really hoped she was wrong. The echoing roar that erupted meant that Wren was unfortunately correct. A very angry bear burst out of the trees with the crossbow bolt sticking out of its hindquarters. Wren choked back a comment about the aim of Varric’s arrow and instead took off at a sprint. She’d not ever encountered an angry bear without at least ten reassuring bows and trained hunters to use them with her. For the most part the clans travelled by them without ever ruffling their fur.

Behind her the horses screamed in panic and bolted. Varric and Sera were all for this and Wren saw their horses go charging by as blurs with Solas hot on their heels. Wren tried to speed up, but it is very hard to run quickly in full armour with a greatsword strapped to your back.

“Lavellan!”

Cassandra’s cry of warning was all the chance Wren got. As she turned she saw Cassandra’s outstretched hand and Wren grabbed hold and jumped as the horse thundered by. The crazy maneuver worked and Wren found herself hauled astride the horse and clinging hard to Cassandra’s waist. They crashed at breakneck pace through the forest with branches whipping at their faces. One tore through the skin on Wren’s cheek and she could feel warm blood begin to drip down her face. Cassandra had one hand gripping the reins and the other clamped around Wren’s forearm as if to help her stay on. The horse slipped and skidded on the rocks and roots hidden beneath the underbrush but did not fall. Behind them the bear roared angrily and charged after them. Wren looked back once to see it howling in rage and very close behind. The fangs in that mouth were huge and Wren was very glad Cassandra had thought to snatch her up. Wren buried her face into Cassandra’s shoulder in fear. She did not want to be killed by a bear. Not today. So scared was Wren she did not notice when the horse beneath her slowed to a walk, nor when Cassandra shifted her grip on her arm to put her hand over Wren’s and laced their fingers together. Wren only came up when she heard Sera and Varric’s laughter.

“We didn’t fuckin’ die!” cried Sera.

“I can’t believe we provoked a bear and lived.”

“You were the one who told me that your Herald had ridiculous luck,” said Sera with a wide grin.

Wren looked up from Cassandra’s shoulder at the two of them celebrating the fact no one was eaten by a bear.

“Next time lets not shoot a bear in the arse, alright?” said Wren.

That sent Sera into another fit of giggles. Varric at least attempted to look apologetic, even though an amused smirk played across his face.

Then Wren realized she was still gripping tightly around Cassandra’s waist. For a moment she let herself bask in the moment: the feel of hard muscle beneath Cassandra’s shirt, the smell of armour polish and sweat and roses, the soft brush of Cassandra’s hair against her cheek. Then Wren forced herself to let go and sit back. She was happy to notice that Cassandra did not stop to let Wren off the back of the horse until they stopped to set up camp for the night, and even then she got off first to gently help Wren to the ground. Again, Wren found herself falling asleep with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey kids, a super fast chapter because yours truly is sick as fuck and doesn't want to do homework when lying in bed coughing up a lung. Hopefully this properly shows the beginnings of the romance. Wren has it so bad.   
> If anyone is curious I based the story about the stars off a story from Native American folklore.


	9. Chapter 9

Their arrival in Haven was a quiet affair. They rode in just past midday, the soldiers not there to witness and gawk as they were no doubt finding their meals somewhere inside the walls. Wren had been riding on the back of Cassandra’s horse for the remainder of the trip, just in case they ran into more trouble on the road which had both delighted Wren and sent her cursing. Her legs, though stronger, were not used to being in the saddle all day, and she did not get the luxury of using the saddle, which meant that she was covered in hair and horse sweat by day’s end. The sight of Haven could not have been more pleasant. They put away their horses and grabbed their gear, all of them thinking hopefully of a warm meal when a runner came hurtling at them from the direction of the chantry. The girl, no more than fifteen, panted with her hands on her knees before delivering the message. Haven was small, she must have sprinted.

“Commander Cullen, Lady Montilyet, and the Nightingale would like to see you right away inside the chantry, Lady Herald,” said the runner with her head bowed in respect Wren wasn’t sure she deserved.

“Can’t they wait an hour for me to find some food and get cleaned up a little?” asked Wren.

“They did say right away, it has something to do with the raven Lady Pentaghast sent.”

Wren whipped around to stare at Cassandra, who did not look guilty in the slightest. Her dark eyes did not meet Wren’s lighter ones. Frowning, Wren turned back to the runner.

“Go ahead and tell them I will be right there, I’m just going to put my gear away,” said Wren.

The runner sprinted back up the hill. She slipped once on the icy dirt but hardly faltered even though a few passing soldiers chuckled.

“So this is the secret base then?” asked Sera with a grin. “It’s friggin cold, no warning about that, but its not bad.”

“Glad you like it. Tavern’s that way if you want something to eat and some of what they’re passing as ale. I’ll join you, make the introductions,” said Varric, taking Sera by the arm and leading her away.

Sera bounced along beside Varric, hopping up and down off of crates and barrels with excitement. Solas too made a move to leave before turning around.

“Herald, when you are done your business there is something I would like to speak to you about.”

“All right Solas, I’ll meet you this evening,” replied Wren, making a mental note not to forget.

He nodded once, then glided up to his haunt near Adan’s potion shop and Wren was alone with Cassandra. She opened her mouth to say something, she wasn’t even sure what. An accusation? But Cassandra beat her to it.

“I will meet you in the chantry.”

And with that she scurried off up the hill. Cassandra had a lot of sway in those hips for a warrior, but Wren was more focussed on the fact that she was apparently communicating with the others in Haven while they were out doing their mission in Val Royeaux. Wren didn’t want to jump to conclusions but it it felt like they were spying on her. Did they not trust her yet? She’d stuck around for this long, she may as well see the hole in the sky fixed and try and find whatever asshole ripped it open. Her own suspicion was that whoever did it was long dead, and what hovered in the sky and remained on her hand was the product of a failed magical experiment.

She didn’t linger to put away her gear properly. Wren simply just tossed her pack and broadsword in the direction of the bed, not minding the thunk and clatter as they obviously missed. She scrambled up the hill, not wanting to delay the meeting if the others were already impatient. She ran, almost literally, into Cassandra outside the chantry doors. Wren sprang back and Cassandra did the same. The two shared an awkward moment of staring at the other, Wren searching for something in Cassandra’s eyes, Cassandra letting hers linger over the scars on Wren’s face.

Then the doors opened and a Sister stepped out, breaking the moment. The two of them looked away, Wren in embarrassment. Eyes trailing over the ground Wren followed Cassandra into the building. The grey stones inside the door had dirt filling up between the cracks, but Wren’s attention was pulled away by Josephine appearing from a door to her right. As usual she was all smiles and bright cheer. The candles in the chantry caught the gold in her outfit and Josephine practically glowed as it reflected into her dark skin. No wonder her talks with diplomats usually went so well, she had the looks to go with the charm and skill.

“Herald! I am glad you’ve returned. We heard about what happened in Val Royeaux,” said Josephine.

“Indeed,” said Wren with a pointed look at Cassandra.

“My spies told me about what happened in front of the chantry. Cassandra sent a raven saying you had been approached by the leader of the mage rebellion,” Leliana’s voice came from behind, making Wren jump a little.

Leliana and Cullen were striding towards them, their feet echoing in the cavernous main hall of the chantry. It was otherwise deserted, no murmured prayers in front of the statue of Andraste, no kneeling refugees lighting a candle for lost souls. The only people in the chantry were the five of them, yet still they all talked in hushed voices, as if the chipped and yellowed statue had gained the ability to hear.

“I knew none of Leliana’s spies had seen her approach us and it was important for them to know,” said Cassandra as a means of explanation.

“I agree that it is important, but you should have told me. Unless I am still your prisoner, just with less of a physical collar and more of an implied one,” said Wren.

“You are not our prisoner,” said Leliana with a reprimanding stare at Cassandra.

“My apologies. I didn’t want to trouble you with something so benign.”

“Nothing you do could trouble me,” said Wren, before realizing what that hand sounded like and quickly covering herself. “If it is important I want to know about it.”

Cassandra nodded. The chantry was silent and still with only the whispers of flames from the hundreds of candles.

“It’s a shame the Templars have abandoned their senses,” said Cullen, crossing his arms.

Wren would argue that they never had any to begin with but instead bit her tongue and nodded.

“We have the opening to approach the Templars and the mages,” said Josephine, all business.

Together they all began moving towards the back room where the large map of southern Thedas lay waiting. Wren trailed behind, noticing that while she and Cassandra had abandoned their larger swords, the Commander still wore his strapped to his waist.

“Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember,” said Cassandra sadly.

Leliana agreed, pointing out that the Templars’ had been moved somewhere out of her spies’ reach for reasons none of them knew. She frowned, a crease forming between her brows and a frown tugging at her lips. It must be frustrating as the spymaster to be blind in a corner.

“I’m certain not everyone in the order will support the Lord Seeker,” said Cullen.

“Or the Herald could simply go to meet the mages in Redcliff,” suggested Josephine, and that opened up the floor for a nasty debate.

“You think siding with the mage rebellion would be a good choice for the Inquisition?” said Cullen indignantly.

“Better than going to the Templars. We know what the mages want. The Templars have too many unknowns,” argued Leliana, red hair falling from her hood as she leaned in to the Commander’s space.

“You must look at this from an unbiased point of view! Mages are dangerous and untrustworthy. Templars are used to carrying out orders,” Cullen’s voice was raising steadily.

Wren felt her shoulders raising too. She did not like yelling. She tried to distract herself by counting how many stones made up the archway of the door into Josephine’s office. Leliana’s also raised voice distracted her mind as she made it halfway up one side.

“Unbiased! Do not forget Commander, I know why you dislike mages so. I was there at the Circle with the Hero. You are being a coward! Magic would help us seal the breach. What good would Templars do us other than being an addition to our forces!”

Wren flinched as Leliana’s volume reached its loudest pitch. Cassandra noticed, and reached out to put her hand on Wren’s small shoulder when Wren’s thoughts burst out of her.

“Enough! I don’t care how you do it, but you must choose one or the other sooner rather than later! Right now you are acting like children.”

Both of them turned to look at Wren at the same time. She could have sworn their necks snapped and the matching nonplussed looks on their faces would have been comical if Wren was not feeling the anxiety coursing through her.

Cullen at least looked properly abashed, eyes glancing downwards and a hand reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. Leliana just looked slightly less murderous.

“I am so sorry. Shall we continue this once we have all had a moment to think?” said Cullen.

“I think that would be wise,” said Cassandra.

The two turned to leave, and Wren made to follow but Leliana’s voice called her back.

“A moment, Herald?”

Leliana walked to Wren, coming to halt beneath the statue of Andraste. For a moment Leliana simply stared up at the statue before looking down at Wren. She told Wren about the disappearance of the Grey Wardens across Thedas and Wren felt her stomach twist. The Grey Wardens may not be well liked for their mystery, but they were the reason Thedas was safe from the threat of the Blights.

“I have heard there is a Warden in the Hinterlands by the name of Blackwall. Next chance you get I’d like you to go and bring him back. I want to see what he knows,” said Leliana.

“Why so invested in the Wardens? This isn’t a Blight,” asked Wren.

“No, but they might have information we need in the future.”

Wren thought a moment back to the previous shouting match. Leliana had mentioned a Hero, and only one person ever got that title now.

“Does it have anything to do with the Hero of Ferelden?” asked Wren.

Leliana’s grey-blue eyes widened in surprise. Wren had hit the nail on the head.

“I travelled with her during the blight.”

Wren nodded. She might have to go digging for stories from Leliana. The Hero of Ferelden had become something of a role model for her. The Dalish elf, once captured and kept in a circle, who became the saviour of all Thedas and killed an Archdemon.

“I’ll see if I can find this Grey Warden next time I am there.”

“Thank you.”

Leliana turned and walked away, footsteps impossibly quiet on the stone floor. Wren was left alone with Andraste. She looked up at the statue. It was hard to believe that anyone would believe her a symbol of hope and benevolence when she stood so tall and stared out with such a cold stony face. Then again, Andraste and the Maker had left the world behind. So strange to worship a god that had willingly abandoned his people. Though she had to admit, there was something about being in the chantry that made her skin crawl as if there was someone just out of sight watching her. The candles at her feet and around the base of the statue shivered in a breeze, but there was no gap in the stone nor open door to let the wind in. Again they flickered and Wren backed up a step. Was it her imagination or were the pupil-less eyes of Andraste staring down at her. Wren blinked, and swore the statue did the same. She backed away and fled the chantry, feeling those haunting eyes on her the whole time.

Wren walked straight down the hill so fast she almost tripped over the icy stone steps leading her down. She needed to get as far away from the chantry and the statue of Andraste as she could. This wound up with her standing outside the gates of the village. Cullen wasn’t at his usual post drilling the troops, but deep in conversation with a city elf in gleaming armour bent over a small yellowed map. Since no one was watching Wren stuck her tongue out at Cullen. It may have been childish but it felt so good. She took up her familiar spot on the low stone wall and looked out over the soldiers. They were drilling in quarterstaffs today. One poor green recruit kept getting his fingers smashed by his opponent. Adan was going to give him an earful later. The alchemist hated it when he had to heal someone, preferring time alone with his bottles and brews. He kept glaring at Wren whenever she walked by simply for the fact she had been in his care for more than one day.

“Herald!” said a surprised voice from the steps behind.

Wren turned to see Cassandra. Her heart leapt in her chest, but she was wary. Cassandra had apologized for the message, but there was something else niggling away at Wren. Cassandra walked down the steps to join her on the wall. She wiggled uncomfortably in the snow at first, she hadn’t bothered to clear off a patch of wall like Wren had. No doubt when the seeker stood she would have a large wet patch on the seat of her leggings. She turned to Wren with a troubled look on her face.

“I wanted to speak with you,” said Cassandra.

“Oh? About what?”

“I wanted to apologize again for my actions. I know we did not get off to the best start, but I would like to think that we are friends in this now. I would not intentionally put you back in the position of prisoner.”

“I’d say you are a friend Cassandra. I was your prisoner, and you had every right to suspect the elf with the glowy hand, but it was disconcerting to see you sneaking about with that raven. But you have apologized twice now, and I can forgive a friend,” said Wren, thinking that while friends was good, she wanted something more.

Cassandra gave her a tight smile but there was still a storm brewing behind her eyes. Wren cocked her head and narrowed her eyes.

“That’s not all, is it,” said Wren.

“No,” said Cassandra.

“Are you going to tell me?”

“I do not want to,” said Cassandra.

“Then why are you sitting here?”

“Because I must.”

Wren sighed. This determination was endearing, but the anticipation was making her stomach do nasty things. The way Cassandra held the tension in her body made Wren want to loop an arm around her shoulders and pull her in close, but she was unsure if such a move would be acceptable in this situation. Humans were hard.

“Does this have anything to do with earlier?” said Wren, thinking back to Cullen and Leliana’s argument in the chantry.

“Yes.”

“I was hoping for a bit more than that,” said Wren with a smile, trying to lift the gloom off Cassandra a little.

“I’m not sure how much you know about the Chantry, but the Seekers were created to help root out corruption. One of our duties is to make sure Templars are not abusing their powers. We failed at Kirkwall. No one thought Meredith was doing anything wrong. In fact, some of the Seekers praised her for her actions. I never once thought that it would get so bad as it did.”

“Were you part of the group that looked into Kirkwall’s Circle?” asked Wren. She’d bitten her lip at some point and the inside of her mouth tasted coppery.

“No,” said Cassandra.

“Then I don’t know why you’re so upset over it. You didn’t know.”

“But I was there in Kirkwall. Only for a month before it exploded, but I was there. I talked with Meredith and I too overlooked her transgressions. I’ve always been wary of mages and in so doing I blinded myself to the actions of the Templars at Kirkwall. You have hinted to me that the Templars’ villainy did not remain behind the walls of the city. Perhaps they might not have strayed if the Seekers were vigilant as they should be.”

Wren’s mind reeled with the information. Cassandra was upset at herself and Wren wasn’t sure if she was upset with her as well. Cassandra’s posture was tense, her spine had been replaced with unmoving dragon bone. Wren wanted to hit her and hug her at the same time. Cassandra hadn’t let the Templars get so out of hand, but when she had been there she hadn’t done anything to stop what she’d seen. Wren wanted to scream out her frustration at the Chantry. They had created a whole order to stop corruption and Kirkwall was a great example of how instead they perpetuated it.

“This sounds more like you are torn between us going to the mages or the Templars for help,” said Wren carefully.

“I am torn, though I think we should go to the mages. I agree with Leliana, magic would be more helpful to seal the breach.”

“Then I suggest we plan a trip to Redcliff. I’ll let you bring that up to our dear Commander. For now, I need to go and collect my thoughts,” said Wren, standing and brushing away a few flakes of clinging snow.

Wren practically fled up the hill to her cabin. She ignored Varric’s calls for her to join him in a game of Wicked Grace with a handful of soldiers. Wren was not in the mood for games and cheer. She had to sort out what Cassandra had said. It would be to easy to blame her for all the Seeker’s actions, but Wren’s heart objected. It occurred to her she was blaming Cullen for every Templar’s action and the thought was unsettling. Face down on her bed she screamed out her frustration and twisted the scratchy blankets in her hands. She wanted to be five years old again, playing with the halla with her brother and not worrying about anything in the great wide world.

As if to remind her that her wants were irrelevant the mark on her hand hissed and spat with its green light. It could have been Wren’s imagination, but the mark on her hand was the tiniest bit bigger. She sighed. The end of the world was going to kill her too unless she could stop it. Maybe it would still kill her even if she did stop it. The only way to know for certain was to try. And for now she could hopefully rely on Solas’ magic to keep her alive for the time being.

Then Wren remembered Solas had wanted to speak with her and shot up off the bed. She threw the confusing thoughts to the back of her mind. As Wren stepped out into the snow she decided that the only way to keep the thoughts from her mind was working hard enough to make sure she didn’t have time to dwell on them.

She found Solas with Adan in their corner of Haven. Solas was apparently in the middle of telling Adan that at some point in the past the Avaar had used arbour blessing instead of elfroot as the main ingredient in their healing potions. Adan looked like he couldn’t decide between telling Solas to shut up with his words or his fists. Wren decided to intervene before Adan decided.

“Solas!” called Wren with a wave.

Both men turned to look at her, Adan’s eyes were full of relief. The alchemist muttered something to Solas and walked back to his cottage as fast as he could in his floor length robes. Solas looked like Wren had deprived him of a treat, but nevertheless turned his full attention to her.

“Herald, I’m glad you’ve come.”

Solas looked troubled. Or he could finally be feeling the cold. How he managed to walk around Haven in just his thin tunic and leggings Wren would never know.

“You wanted to talk?”

“Yes. First, if I may ask, how is the mark?” asked Solas.

Wren lifted her palm up, showing the green tear in her skin.

“It hurt a bit earlier, and it hisses from time to time, but I don’t think it’s gotten any worse.”

Solas hummed, grabbing her hand and twisting it this way and that so he could see it from every angle. Wren’s hands were on the verge of numbness from the cold, but Solas’ were colder than ice. If he were anyone else Wren would be thinking about the possibility of hypothermia.

“There is something else, da’lin. I can feel a shift in the strength in the veil. The next time we go to the Hinterlands I would like to investigate,” said Solas.

“We should be heading out again soon. I wouldn’t bother unpacking much,” said Wren.

Solas nodded.

“How has your training with the Commander going? I am not skilled at healing magic and I would not like a repeat of our last expedition to the Hinterlands,” said Solas with one brow raised.

Wren’s hackles raised. She’d like to see Solas use a sword with his noodle arms.

“It’s been going fine.”

“I meant no offense.”

Wren nodded in reply, still angry.

“Until next time, da’lin.”

Wren left, stomping into the snow. She snagged a bowl of soup from the tavern, making acquaintance with Sera. The other elf was loud and cheerful and everything Wren needed. The only downside was that Sera had no love for anything too “elfy”. Wren almost buried her face in her bowl before Sera said that her _vallaslin_ was pretty, even if it was some “weird elfy shite”.  Wren trailed a finger over the curving brown lines, only a few shades darker than her skin. The _vallaslin_ covered her left eye, the one unmarred by a scar. Soup done and feeling full and more relaxed than she had in ages Wren stood to go. She was stopped by Sera’s hand on her arm.

“Sit a while, yeah? Soon as you leave here you have to go back to being all stick-up-your-arse boring,” said Sera with a grin as she yanked Wren back down onto the bench.

On the far side of the room the bard, Maryden, set up to play. Her voice was lovely and her hands were magic with the strings. She enraptured the room. Tired soldiers listened with happy smiles and Flissa stepped in time to the song as she delivered food and drinks in a sort of dance.

“Still don’t know much about you, Herald. Or are you working the whole _mysterious_ thing?” asked Sera slyly.

“I’m not that mysterious. Most of them just haven’t bothered to ask,” said Wren, sipping at what passed for ale in Haven. It tasted like horse piss and had enough grit in it to be classified as mud but no one was complaining.

“All right, here’s a question then: what’s with you and the Seeker?”

Wren nearly spat her mouthful of ale all over Sera. The other elf was studying her hard beneath her uneven fringe.

“Excuse me?” spluttered Wren.

“You and Seeker Cassandra, yeah? I saw the way you were clinging to her of the back of that horse. Word of advice, one girl to another, ladies like that don’t often go for pretty girl elves,” said Sera.

Her tone was light but her eyes were dark. Wren swallowed down her words with another sip of ale.

“So you think I’m pretty?” said Wren, pouting her already plump lips and batting her eyes.

“Oh come off it, anyone with eyes can see you’ve got the hots for her.”

“You must admit she is quite something,” said Wren, then turned red realizing this was the first time she had admitted it out loud. Luckily the words were hidden from listening ears by the chatter and song floating through the air.

“She’s nice enough to look at, even with those scars. But I prefer my bedmates with a little less armour and a few more curves,” said Sera, making a show of giving Wren a once over and letting her eyes linger on her hips and her breasts.

Wren knew she was not that gifted with a feminine body. Like most elves she was long and lean, and the buildup of muscle from training with her broadsword left little room for things like an ample bosom and soft hips. So she winked at Sera, which made her let out an undignified snort of laughter. It was fun. It was certainly far more fun than anything had been since the sky blew open and rifts to the Fade began popping up like spring daisies all over Thedas.

“I don’t know if she’ll ever look at me like that in return,” sighed Wren as Maryden began playing some slow mournful ballad about an Orlesian Chevalier and his doomed lover.

“Aw, whyever not? You’re the Herald of Andraste and you got nice tits once you take the armour off.”

“Not everyone goes in for nice tits, Sera,” said Wren. “Discounting that, she’s also so much older I’m probably like a whiny child to her.”

Sera stuck out her tongue.

“Boo! That’s not a huge thing though is it? Lots of people have bigger gaps. Especially them weird nobles.” said Sera, taking a swig from her mug.

“Sera, I’m nineteen.”

Sera spat out her drink, soaking a soldier on a nearby bench.

“Say what!”

Wren just grinned.

“Fate of the world in the hands of a teenager,” said Wren, smirking at Sera’s reactions.

“No way your younger than me. I thought the Herald was supposed to be all wise and older and stuff,” said Sera.

“If this was a story I’m sure I would be some strong handsome human with big beefy arms and wisdom to match the Maker. Too bad this is real life.”

Sera broke out into her snorting laugh again, but broke off to size up Wren.

“You know, anyone ever gives you a hard time about anything, I’ll stick a few arrows in them, yeah? Maybe if you actually do manage to close up the giant demony hole in the sky I’ll teach you how to bake or something. People always say way to the heart is through the stomach. Of course it’s all shite, but it might help,” said Sera.

“Thanks Sera,” said Wren, finishing her ale and standing.

Sera waved her off, foot bouncing in time as Maryden picked up a quicker song with bawdy lyrics. Wren stepped out into the cold snow with the sound of fifty drunken soldiers singing _The Magister and His Staff_. Maryden certainly knew how to pick her songs. Her case would be full of coins by the end of the night and Flissa might have to crack open another giant barrel of the ale.

Wren hummed along as she walked towards her cabin. She was a little fuzzy on the words but the tune was simple and catchy. She fell asleep relaxed for the first time in a long time and slept deeply and late.

In fact, Wren slept right through breakfast and woke up about an hour before noon. At first she thought it was strange that no one came to wake her, but she decided not to question the gift and dressed slowly.

She emerged to find the sun warming up Haven enough to make the icicles hanging off the eaves drip. She gulped and dashed out of the small house while staring up at the icicles. Keeper Istimaethorial had always warned her about the danger of walking under warming ice or snow. Without much direction Wren wandered up the steps to see the end of some sort of argument between Varric and Cassandra. No weapons were drawn so Wren assumed it couldn’t have been that bad, but the two of them did look murderous. Cassandra turned around and Wren almost took a step back from the fire in her eyes.

“Herald!”

“Yes?” said Wren.

“How quickly can you be ready to travel?” asked Cassandra, anger making her accent thicker.

“I could probably be ready in two hours,” said Wren, hands raised in front of her defensively.

“Good. We are leaving. Go tell Sera she is coming with us, Varric is going on a _mission_ of his own.”

Cass stomped away through the slush, leaving Wren blinking in her wake. She was not awake enough for this yet. She turned to Varric. He shrugged.

“I just told her I was going to bring in a friend to help research what could have caused the tear. Solas is good, but he’s only really good for history.”

“Is this friend Hawke by any chance?” asked Wren, excitement bubbling up in her chest.

Varric sighed and shook his head.

“No, and that’s why our Lady Seeker is so furious. She just wants to get her hands on Hawke. Even if I knew where Hawke was I wouldn’t tell Cassandra. Shit she’s gone through, she doesn’t need this,” said Varric as he swept an arm around Haven.

“So who is it then?”

“Just a little Daisy. Shouldn’t take me too long to go and get her, she was already on her way when I sent her the message, but she likes having Bianca at her back,” said Varric.

“I look forward to meeting her,” said Wren.

Varric smiled at her, before his eyebrows furrowed.

“You be careful out there, Birdie. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Would I get into trouble?” asked Wren sweetly.

Varric frowned at her and Wren dropped the teasing tone, afraid she’d stepped over some invisible line.

“Sorry. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best.”

Wren offered a smile and her hand. Varric gripped it tight for a moment before letting go. His hands were warm and rough and very solid. His hand in hers was like a promise to come home.

“I’ll see you when we get back,” said Wren as she walked off in the direction of the tavern.

Varric just raised a single hand in farewell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried so hard to get to Redcliff this chapter. I'm already about 2000 words into the next one at this point but it was getting too long and even though you might like an 8000 word chapter, I might not have time to write very much in the next few weeks as final assignments are coming up and Sakura Con is in like 10 days or something crazy. I need to work on my cosplays. I need to find my cosplays. 
> 
> Also how pumped are you for Merrill showing up? I always thought it would be nice to have an elf advisor for all the elfy things (sorry Morrigan). And who better than our dear Daisy? 
> 
> I apologize about maybe making Cullen come off as mean or a nasty character. I love him as much as you do (in Wren's playthrough thats who she got with because Cass turned her down). I promise at some point he will get redeemed in her eyes. I'm open to suggestions on how. 
> 
> Anyways, hope your day is going well and you can read this curled up with your favourite snack or animal friend.


	10. Chapter 10

The road was dry and clear as they made their way back down into the Hinterlands. They had to make camp in a copse of trees as night fell before they reached one of the Inquisition’s permanent campsites. The night was almost uneventful. Wren woke up some time before dawn with the burning pain in her abdomen screaming at her. She stifled a scream on the blankets of her bedroll, biting them. She curled into as small a ball as she could manage and pressed down at the offending pain. Nothing happened except for a few tears escaping to roll down Wren’s freckled cheeks. She stifled a sob and wiped at her eyes. Nothing would come from crying over this. She lay like that, curled up and trying not to make a sound, for hours. The pain was dying down when Cassandra began waking up next to her. Wren needed to get up as well. Every move sent new waves of agony through her, but she managed to get dressed without Cassandra cottoning on.

The morning was awful. Wren spent the whole morning trying to stand upright instead of lying in the dirt in a fetal position. She didn’t even manage to get exciting about meeting another Dalish elf as Solas led them down into an ancient tunnel. There were several demons lying in wait, but nothing that they couldn’t handle. There was almost a confrontation between Solas and the Dalish elf, Mihris, but Wren managed to put a peaceful end to it by appealing to Mihris as a fellow Dalish elf.

Then they went adventuring to where Leliana’s scouts had reported the Grey Warden. By the time they came to the scouts’ camp the pain in Wren’s abdomen had almost completely faded. The camp was on a wide ledge overlooking a waterfall. It had quite a pretty view of the valley, but the spot that they needed to get to was above the waterfall and on the other side of a large pond. Wren wasn’t happy about this.

Cassandra wanted to go all the way around the very large mountain to get access through a narrow valley. Sera suggested flying nugs. Wren eyed up the rock decided to take matters into her own hands.

Before the others could blink Wren had grabbed ahold of the rock face next to the waterfall and begun climbing. No way was she wasting the rest of the day walking all the way around a mountain. She had reached the narrower upper ledge by the time her companions noticed.

“What are you doing up there!” shouted Cassandra, staring up at Wren.

“Going to see the Grey Warden,” answered Wren straight-faced.   

Sera giggled and began climbing without complaint. She was quick and agile, and without heavy armour Sera quickly scaled her way up to Wren.  The two of them stood there smiling down at Cassandra and Solas, who both looked very put off at the idea of climbing.

“Get back down here before you hurt yourself,” said Cassandra.

“How about you get up here before the sun sets,” said Wren.

Cassandra glared.

“Sorry. But it is a lot faster than going all the way around the mountain,” said Wren.

As a compromise she crouched down and held out her hand towards Cassandra. She had to climb a bit first, but eventually Cassandra caught hold of Wren’s hand and allowed herself to be hauled up over the edge by the small elf. If Cassandra noticed the way Wren’s hand lingered in hers she did not say anything. Solas huffed at the base of the rock, but climbed up with more agility and grace than Sera. The next climb was more of a scramble over the rocks, but no one fell despite Cassandra’s gasps whenever a foot or hand slipped on the wet stone.

Wren hadn’t thought about the pond when they got up to the top. Across the water they could see a cabin and several distant figures outside of it. Over the rush of water they could hear the high ringing of swords clashing and the shouts of men. Cassandra set off at once through the pond and Solas and Sera followed, but Wren hesitated at the water’s edge. The pond was wide and the water dark. There was no telling how deep it was, or how fast the current, or if there was anything waiting underneath to snatch her and pull her down. She stayed at the edge with water lapping at the toes of her boots and blood lotus curling around her ankles.

“Herald, aren’t you coming?” asked Cassandra.

“I’d rather go around if you don’t mind,” said Wren.

“Why? It is not deep and I thought you wanted the quickest route?”

Wren gulped and looked down at the water. It seemed peaceful enough but who knew what lurked beneath. Both Solas and Sera turned to watch the conversation. Sera’s eyes were narrowed in thought.

“Herald, if you would,” said Solas, taking hold of her in a surprisingly strong grip and pulling her out into the water.

Wren thrashed against his grip but to no avail. Solas dragged her step by step into the pond. Wren was tempted to up its size to small lake when by Solas’ third step Wren was up to her knees in murky water.

“Stop! Wait! _Nuva fen’harel pala masa sule’din_ , I said NO!” shouted Wren, yanking her arm back from Solas.

She backpedaled quickly towards the shore, and would have slid on the rocky bottom if not for Sera coming to grab her arm. Cassandra had concern written all over her face, and Solas nonplussed.

“Where on earth did you learn such language?” said Solas.

“Where any girl does. Listen to a lady when she doesn’t want to be grabbed, yeah? It’s friggin rude. Let’s just go around the damn lake then,” growled Sera. “And aren’t you supposed to be her guard or something? Not doing a good job of it then.”

Cassandra at least looked properly chastised, though held her head tall as she waded back out of the water. She said nothing but led the way around the lake, giving the edge of the water a wide berth excepting where they had to cross, but she found the driest route possible. Solas was silent as he trailed behind, but wore an expression of someone finding out something incredibly interesting.  

Blackwall as it turned out, was a bearded man, past the prime of his life but still fit and strong. A seasoned veteran. Definitely the kind of Grey Warden Wren would want at her back in a fight against darkspawn. His recruits were incredibly green, even Wren could tell. They were all small and scrawny with dark looks in their eyes. Wren didn’t know much about the Wardens, but the men Blackwall was training seemed more like criminals than heroes willing to be the front line against darkspawn. Or maybe the Wardens were made up of criminals and the songs about the noble Grey Warden were simply fantasy.

“Warden Blackwall?” asked Wren, approaching the bearded man.

Wren wasn’t sure what happened, but before Wren could explain why they were there an arrow whizzed through the air. She flinched away. Her shoulder still remembered the arrow that had lodged itself there not long ago. But Blackwall’s shield came up and the arrow thudded into it harmlessly. Wren shivered and pulled her sword out of its sheath and waited as the bandits charged them down.

She swung into battle with a fierce spin, knocking weapons out of hands and cutting deep into the stomach of one who was slow to guard. Another spin took a head and an arm. Blood soaked into the grass beneath her feet but Wren did not stop her attack. An archer was hiding behind a tree trying to fire off arrows at whomever had their back to him. Wren glared and charged, her heavy armour jangling with her steps before she knocked him on the head with the pommel and used the brief window of his stagger to stab him through the heart. Archers should really wear more armour. By the time she turned back to the battle it was over. Blackwall’s men were alive, though looking shell-shocked and uncomfortable with their blades dripping in gore.

Then Blackwall let them go. Wren was confused as to why, but it meant she could talk to the man. Wren was also confused by his claim that he had no idea why the other Wardens disappeared. There were rumours about the Wardens and their rituals, and the Wardens did all seemed to be well informed of each other. An outlier then was suspicious.

“But I’ll tell you one thing: no Warden killed the Divine. Our purpose isn’t political,” growled out Blackwall.

Wren thought back to what she knew of the blight, and the many treaties that had been involved. Not political her ass.

His move with training the recruits was a good move though. Smart. Cassandra nodded in approval. That he had a good head on his shoulders reassured Wren that the Warden could be an asset to the Commander. They said their goodbyes soon enough, eager to be getting to Redcliff.

“I can be in Haven in a few days. Not much for me to settle ‘round here. A word of warning: strange things have been happening up near Redcliff. Not many people coming out of the city, and those who do are saying strange things,” said Blackwall as Wren’s group prepared to leave.

“Strange things?” asked Wren.

“Everyone who has come out of there gets the date wrong. Some put themselves a month the past, others a month in the future. Far as I can tell the mages did something and the whole city cracked,” Blackwall shrugged his big shoulders.

“Anything else?” said Wren.

“Nothing more from me. I’ll see you in Haven,” said Blackwall in clear dismissal. He bowed his head respectfully before turning and walking away.

The gate to Redcliffe was blocked by a rift. It was a big one, spitting out more demons than Wren had seen before. She reached back for her sword and swung it loose. One hand rand through her short hair to push it out of her face. She heard the soft twang of Sera’s bow being strung and took off towards the gate with a cry. Thank the Creators for the sword lessons, otherwise the first swing of the rage demon’s claws would have cut her from hip to shoulder. As it was Wren managed to parry the blow and push the demon back. She managed to cut it down and found an opportunity to close the rift, but it wasn’t working. Or rather, it was working, but slower than it ever had before. Wren could only be sure the mark was working from the painful pull of energy though her palm and the thin beam of power that connected it to the rift. The usual thundering sound of the magic was absent.

On the other side of the rift Wren watched as a demon who was bearing down on Sera sped up like she had never seen any demon move before. One second it was doing its usual slow wiggle across the trampled grass, the next it had wiggled its way to Sera and had an arm raised to cut her down. Not if Wren could help it. With a painful wrench, Wren broke the connection and dashed to Sera. She wasn’t going to make it! The demon was still to far away. Then Wren moved faster, almost beyond the abilities of her body. It was too fast to control, and she ended up tackling the demon instead of stabbing it with her sword. It worked, the demon was distracted from Sera and allowed the archer to put some distance between herself and the fight. Wren didn’t have time to see how far she had gotten before turning back to the writhing demon underneath her. It flailed with its long thin limbs and its claws scratched down her armour. Wren managed to maneuver her sword around until she could stab it through the chest. The demon hissed and whined as it died, dissolving back into the rift.

What the fuck was that?

Cassandra noticed it too, but there was something strange about the way they were all moving around this rift. Wanting it to stop, Wren raised her left hand and forged the connection with the rift. This time the familiar hum of energy echoed through the air around them before the rift shut with a bang.

Inside Redcliff things were just as weird. The air inside the city was colder and the sky was brighter than the Hinterlands just beyond the city gate. They were approached by an Inquisition soldier just as the group passed through the gate.

“You should know that no one here was expecting us,” said the scout.

“Not even the Grand Enchanter? She invited us in the first place,” asked Wren with a sinking feeling. This was beginning to smell like a trap.

“If she was, she told no one. We’ve arranged for the tavern to be used for negotiations.”

Wren nodded her assent and continued down the rocky path into the heart of the city. Nothing was entirely out of the ordinary in the city, but the hairs were raising on the back of Wren’s neck. Something was off about this place. An elf in armour approached them as they reached the city’s main square. He huffed a little as he tried to get his breath back and told Wren about a certain Magister Alexius who had taken up residency in the city. Wren frowned at the news. She was expecting mages, but a magister was very much unexpected and not entirely good news.

“Friggin weird place just got weirder. What is a Magister doing here?” grumbled Sera under her breath.

“I have no idea, maybe he wanted to help southern mages escape from the Circles?” said Wren.

Cassandra snorted and Wren had to agree the theory was far-fetched.

“Shall we meet with the Grand Enchanter then? We may find out a little more than what we are learning by standing here,” said Solas.

“Are you sure that is the best plan?” said Wren with a frown. “Something is wrong here, I don’t have to be a mage to feel it.”

“Are you saying we should simply go back to Haven and ignore the situation here?” countered Solas.

“Yes. No,” Wren frowned. “Maybe? I don’t know what to do. This place gives me the creeps.”

Wren threw her hands up into the air and groaned. She didn’t know what to do. There was some strange magic at work here and Wren was sure she didn’t want to be caught up in it. The feel was much different than the Keeper’s magic, which curled up warm around her whenever she cast a big spell. This was cold, like an icy finger brushing over her spine or a puff of unexpected breath on the back of her neck. 

The others were all looking at her expectantly and Wren shied away from their gaze. Whoever decided Wren should be even remotely in charge should probably be tested for soundness of mind. Cassandra huffed and tapped her foot impatiently and Wren caved.

“All right, we go to the tavern, but at the first sign of trouble we go back for more soldiers. As much as I don’t like Templars it might be a good idea to bring a few with us.”

“I agree. I do not like going against so many mages without Templar aid,” said Cassandra.

Wren set off in the direction of the tavern with her head held high and her shoulders back, pretending confidence. She believed the mages deserved freedom, and hated Templars with a fiery passion, but she was scared. The news of a Magister was like a punch to the gut. How did a Tevinter Magister get so far south unchecked? And in Redcliff of all places, the second biggest city in Ferelden.

The tavern was not as warm and welcoming as the one in Haven. The doors remained shut and no light came from the windows. Wren swallowed. All around them the city was quiet. People hurried about their business silently. The only sound was the wind in the trees and a raven laughing in a tree. One deep breath later and Wren seized the thick rusting handle and pulled. The door was heavy and it took an undignified heave to pull it open.

The inside of the tavern was dark and dingy. It hadn’t been used properly in some time. Dust danced in the sunlight streaming through the windows. Fiona was there, in the same blue robes as before. Her expression was guarded, defensive, and decidedly unfriendly. Seemed the Grand Enchanter did not trust the situation just as much as Wren did not.

“Grand Enchanter, we are finally answering the call of the mages after your words in Val Royeaux,” began Wren, keeping her voice respectful.

“You are mistaken. I have not been to Val Royeaux since before the conclave, Herald of Andraste,” said Fiona.

“There is something strange at work here, but I have come to ask assistance from the mages to close the breach.”

Fiona looked Wren up and down, and did the same to her companions. Whatever she was searching for, she found it. Fiona’s expression softened and she gave Wren a sad smile.

“I would like to say yes, but the mages are now in the service of Magister Alexius. If you want us you will have to negotiate with him,” said Fiona.

Excellent. They seemed to be locked in an endless game of tag. Wren bit back the urge to sigh or groan loudly. Either option would make Cassandra kick her in the ankle and Josephine berate her manners when she got back to Haven. Instead she used her words.

“Where can I find this Magister Alexius then?” asked Wren.

Fiona’s eyes jumped to something behind Wren. The sound of wood scraping wood echoed through the still room. Wren turned to watch as the door to the tavern opened to reveal a man in a red hood and his entourage. He was old, with tired bags under his eyes and yesterday’s stubble grey against his chin. He looked around the room with dark eyes until they settled on Wren. He took a step closer, looking down his proud Imperium nose at Wren. It wasn’t hard to do since Wren was at least half a foot shorter than him.

“You must be the Magister I have been hearing so much about,” said Wren.

She was all too aware that the chance to go back for more swords was gone. They were on their own, and Wren really hoped no one could see that she was shaking in her boots.

“And you must be the one they are calling the Herald of Andraste. What brings you to Redcliff?” Magister Alexius was going for pleasant, but there was a hard edge in his voice.

“I need the mages to help close the breach, I am answering a summons put forth by one of the mages currently living in the city,” said Wren.

Behind her Sera shifted her feet, one hand absently touching the wood of the bow strapped to her back. Over the magic in the air anyone could feel the tension in the room.

“Ah yes, you mean my mages,” said Alexius.

“You can’t keep them. The south doesn’t look kindly on slavery. The mages have been fighting for their freedom and they deserve it.”

“I offered them sanctuary exchange for-“ Alexius was cut off by a young man in a yellow hood much like his own stumbling forward.

Wren stepped forward and caught the man before he could collapse. He was heavy, but not as heavy as Wren expected.

“Felix!” exclaimed Alexius, “are you all right? Did you take your medicine?”

Wren felt something being pressed into her hand as Felix righted himself.

“I’m all right, Father. I was just dizzy for a moment,” said Felix.

Wren took a closer look at Felix as he stepped back to his father’s side. He did look sick. There was a pastiness to his skin and hollows around his eyes.

With that the Magister scurried out of the room with an arm supporting Felix. The whole entourage followed them out fussing and fretting. The tavern went back to normal after they left. That is if you can call a tense and silent atmosphere in a tavern normal.

“Why don’t you see about getting us some rooms,” said Wren to Solas quietly. They needed to be away from all these watchful eyes. Or rather, Wren did and would use whatever Felix stuffed into her hand as an excuse.

The rooms at the tavern were not the cleanest, but they had real beds and the bedclothes had been washed. It was more than Wren had hoped for when she had asked Solas to procure them rooms. They even had a view of the lake out the window. Wren sat upon the nearest bed and unfolded the note in her hand.

_Come to the chantry tonight. You are in danger._

Not ominous at all.

After a brief argument that ended with the decision that, yes, even if this was very obviously a trap they would meet Felix in the chantry that night, the group split up. Sera went back down into the tavern’s main room in search of a glass of booze to make ‘all this shite seem less creepy’. Solas had retired to the other room to sleep. He sounded excited at the prospect of wandering the fade in Redcliff, though Wren couldn’t understand why.

This left her and Cassandra in the room together. Cassandra had settled into polishing her armour with a pensive look on her face. Wren did not want to go back down to the weird atmosphere of the town, instead sitting cross-legged on the bed and rolling the clan totem between her fingers. She hoped the clan was all right, she hadn’t had any news of the clan since Leliana had sent her people in aid. The smooth wood wheeled over and over in her hands, the deer staring up at Wren with sad eyes. Hopefully the whole issue with the magister could be resolved peacefully, the mages would help to seal the breach, and Wren could be on her way home in no time at all.

“What is that?” asked Cassandra.

Wren looked up, confused.

“The necklace in your hand. It came from your clan. Does it hold a special meaning for you?” asked Cassandra, putting aside her polishing cloth.

“It’s the symbol of Clan Lavellan.”

“So you are thinking of home then.”

“Did the Seekers really do nothing about the Kirkwall Templars?” asked Wren.

“I admitted it, did I not?”

“So what are you going to do about the Templars running loose all over Thedas right now?”

“Honestly, I am not sure. I had a lot of hope in the conclave and in Divine Justinia, but now that she is gone I can only guess at what the future might hold. For now we must concentrate on closing the breach,” said Cassandra as she looked out the window. Though the breach wasn’t visible from the window, streaks of green still reflected off a few wisps of cloud that had gathered.

“Easier said than done,” murmured Wren.

Cassandra gently placed her amour on the ground and quietly slid her sword out of it’s sheath to give it the same treatment. The blade was already gleaming, a sign of Cassandra’s tireless care for it, but nevertheless she ran the polishing cloth over it. Wren put the pendant back on, sliding it beneath her tunic and smiling at the now familiar weight between her breasts.

“So your clan sent you the necklace to keep you close to your home?” asked Cassandra as she passed the cloth over the blade.

“Sort of. In our clan everyone gets a totem of their contribution to the clan when they decide on a path to walk. I had not decided before I left. This was meant to be for my brother, but they sent it to me,” said Wren with a shrug.

“For your brother? Is he younger then?” asked Cassandra.

Wren bit her lip. That wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have. It still hurt, even after almost ten years.

“No, but Ëonwë died a long time ago. The totem is for the Keeper of Clan Lavellan,” said Wren. “But I think we should prepare for tonight.”

Cassandra looked like she had something to say, but swallowed her words and sheathed her sword once more. Armour was buckled and strapped into place as the two made ready in silence.

Moving about the town at night was eerie. A mist was forming over the lake, swallowing the lanterns on the docks. The moons were thin slivers in the sky, definitely not what had been in the sky the night before. Lights flickered inside the houses but the city was quiet. No cheerful laughter came from inside those homes. The party made their way to the chantry in silence.

“So uh, do we knock?” asked Sera as they stood outside the heavy chantry doors.

Wren shrugged. She wasn’t the best source of knowledge on secret meetings.  Her last attempt at sneaking into a meeting, one that was very much public knowledge, ended with the Temple of Sacred Ashes being blown to smithereens and many people much more important than her dying.

Since Wren was very much not taking charge of the situation, Cassandra made a disgusted noise and kicked the door open. Subtlety was not her strong suit. Making an entrance was not a problem, as what was happening inside the chantry was a lot more interesting than a woman in full armour kicking down the door. A rift had opened inside the chantry and was spitting out demons left, right, and centre. The four of them stood shocked for a moment, before Wren saw a figure lit up by the green light of the rift. Wren’s eyes widened in surprise and she rushed forward. What poor fool got themselves caught up in this mess. Wren hoped it wasn’t Felix. The man was too sickly to try and stand against so many demons. Without waiting for her companion’s to follow Wren unsheathed her sword and charged.

She used the pommel of her greatsword to smash a demon out of the way before grabbing onto the robe of the man caught in the middle of the mayhem and drag him backwards out of the demon’s range. He squawked in a most undignified manner before Wren released him behind a pillar.

“Hide here, you’ll be safe. First chance you get, run for the door,” said Wren, barely sparing a glance at the man.

“Wait just a minute,” said the man, but Wren was gone.

She smashed her way through the demons with ease, though a lot of them had come through, they were all weak and easily taken care of. Wren rolled to dodge a terror demon as it leapt out of the ground. She spun into the demon, sword sweeping aside its spindly green limbs and smashing through the main body. The demon crumpled and a blast of flame from Solas finished it off. Wren was now close enough to seal the rift, lifting her hand and letting the energy pull from her. She stumbled forward as the rift closed. Having done it all in one go made her dizzy and her hand numb, but she recovered quickly. She shook out her hand to get the pins and needles sensation out of it and turned around.

A rather handsome man stood before the group. He had dark hair and a well-groomed moustache which twitched as he smiled. Or smirked. His carriage was too haughty and noble for anything more genuine than a smirk.  Wren was wary. He looked Tevene, and right now she was not the most trusting of Tevinter men.

“Who are you?” she asked, keeping her massive sword in one hand.

“I am Dorian of House Pavus, most recently from Minrathous, at your service,” said Dorian with an exaggerated bow.

“I am Lavellan of the Inquisition,” said Wren, stumbling a bit over the stiff introduction.

“And the fabled Herald of Andraste from the rumours I’ve heard. Tell me, how exactly do you close the rift?” he asked, eyes winding their way down to the mark on her hand.

Wren couldn’t find the words to describe it. Her face must have revealed how lost she was because he plowed ahead nonetheless.

“You don’t even know. Just wiggle your fingers and boom! Rift closed.”

Shame coloured Wren’s cheeks at Dorian’s tone. It was not like she needed to understand it in order to close it. She wasn’t a stuffy mage. Wren was a warrior with a sword, good for hitting and protecting, not so much understanding veil-tearing magic.

“Be careful with your words, I did just save you,” said Wren.

Dorian laughed, high and smug.

“I think I can rather handle myself, don’t you. Magister Alexius was my former mentor, so my assistance should be valuable.”

“Valuable for what, exactly?” said Cassandra from behind Wren’s right shoulder.

Dorian gave pause to look Cassandra up and down. She must have been giving him quite the glare as the flippant, smug persona wilted.

“I thought I was to meet Felix here, not a Tevinter mage,” said Wren.

“He was to give you the note and meet us here later. If he is feeling ill his father will be watching him like a hawk,” said Dorian, worry creasing his brow. “Look, you must know that there is danger here. To reach Redcliff before the Inquisition Alexius distorted time. The magic he’s using is unstable. I helped develop the theory as his apprentice, and it was just a theory until the rifts appeared.”

“So Alexius manipulated time to get a few hundred mages under his control all the way out here in Fereldan. Why?” Wren asked.

“He didn’t do it for the mages,” came a voice from behind.

Wren whirled, point of her blade coming up under Felix’s chin. She hadn’t heard him enter the chantry or his footsteps across the stone floor. Usually chantries echoed even a pin falling to the floor. Or at least all the ones Wren had been in were large and echoey. Felix raised his hands to shoulder height and looked sheepish. Wren lowered the staff.

“As I was saying,” said Felix, tugging on the collar of his strange hooded garment to straighten it, “My father did not come here for the mages.”

Wren puzzled. What then was he after? The mage’s magic? A strong position in enemy territory. Wren might not know a whole hell of a lot about the world, but she knew it would be better to start an attack on the south by setting up a base in Orlais.

“He is after the Herald, isn’t he,” said Cassandra.

“What?” said Wren.

“My father is in a cult, called the Venatori. Whatever he’s done for them he’s done to get to you,” said Felix.

“Why would he change time and enslave the mages just to get to me?” asked Wren.

Wren finally slid her big sword back into its sheath. The soft snick of metal in the leather was heard by all in the silent church. Dorian was staring at Wren like she had said something incredibly stupid. Sera snorted from somewhere behind her, but it was cut off like someone had jabbed her in the ribs.

“They are obsessed with you. Perhaps it is because you survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

“You can close the rifts. Perhaps the Venatori see you as a threat,” said Dorian, pondering the new information.

“Well, I never thought I would ever be worth this much fuss. Alexius knows how to flatter a girl,” said Wren, though her insides boiled with nerves.

“The first step is knowing it is a trap. I can’t stay in Redcliff; Alexius doesn’t know I’m here. But whenever you deal with him, I want to be there,” said Dorian.

He made to leave through a small door to the left, but Wren dashed forward and stopped him with a hand on his robe. He turned indignantly, as though to scold her, but seemed to think better of it before whatever sharp words he had leapt off his tongue.

“If you must get out of Redcliff, make for an Inquisition camp. Our scouts are all over the road and the people at the Crossroads can point you in the right direction.

Dorian nodded and disappeared out the door. Felix too gave his leave and vanished as well, leaving the party standing in the middle of the chantry. Many of the benches had been splintered and broken from the fight and papers had been strewn across the stones.

“Perhaps it is best if we do not linger,” said Solas with an eye on the damaged surroundings.

“Agreed,” said Wren and they scattered into the night.

Wren did not immediately go back to the tavern/inn and their rooms. Instead she wandered though the darkness until she came to a secluded spot overlooking the lake. The moonlight was reflected perfectly on the still waters. Wren shivered. A short but sturdy looking tree grew out of the rocky ground several feet back from the cliff. Wren tested her weight against one of the branches before nodding to herself and pulling off her boots. The feel of bark against her fingers and feet was soothing. It had hit her in the chantry, the realization that she was no longer just Wren Lavellan. People had heard of her in places as far as Tevinter as the Herald of Andraste. All this because of her impulse decision to run away from the clan in hopes of seeing the Templars be brought to heel.

A crash in the bushes brought Wren out of her thoughts. In the darkness Wren’s keen eyes found a human shape coming towards her. She readied herself to make a quiet drop on them when they spoke.

“Damn all these plants,” muttered a familiar Nevarran accent.

Wren stifled a giggle as Cassandra stumbled over a root and nearly faceplanted into a fern. Cassandra’s head shot up and she looked from side to side. Wren knew she had been caught and slid down from her perch.

“Lavellan, is that you?” called Cassandra softly.

“Yes. Here, let me help,” said Wren, taking Cassandra’s arm and leading her close to the cliff and the moonlight so that she could see. “That better?”

“Yes, thank you,” said Cassandra, turning to look at Wren.

Wren made no move to drop her hands from Cassandra’s arm, and Cassandra made no move to pull away. For a moment all they did was take each other in under the moonlight. An owl hooted softly in the distance, and it was enough to shake Cassandra out of the moment.

“I need to speak to you,” began Cassandra. Wren blinked back to reality.

“I’m sorry?”

“Earlier in the chantry you invited Dorian to an Inquisition camp. Do you think it wise to trust him so easily?” asked Cassandra. Her voice was sharp, and Wren wondered if the hostility might be on the account of the fact that not only was Dorian from Tevinter, he was a mage as well.

“I’m not sure if I trust him, but I do believe he wants to stop Alexius. After all, the enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that, right?”

“I have heard the saying, yes,” said Cassandra, amused. “But I worry for you. I know you have little experience with this sort of life.”

It was Cassandra’s turn to grasp Wren’s shoulder. Wren was glad the darkness hid her flush. Did Cassandra know how tender she sounded? Sure the woman was a force of nature, but her strength had kindness too. How was Wren supposed to not fall for that.

“Thank you for worrying about me. I know we didn’t exactly get off to the right start, but I am grateful for your support. I honestly don’t think I could do any of this if I didn’t have you at my back,” said Wren.

Was it just her, or had Cassandra taken a step closer. Wren nervously reached up a hand to Cassandra’s face, but just before skin could touch Sera’s voice rang out.

“Oi, Herald! Where are you? The grumpy elf wants to see you.”

Wren and Cassandra sprang apart, the moment broken. Wren looked but Sera was still too far off to see the two of them.

“You out here?” called Sera again.

“Yes, I’m coming,” Wren called back.

Cassandra made an unhappy noise but allowed Wren to lead her back to the main square and the tavern. When they appeared together Sera made all sorts of expressions implying what Wren and Cassandra might have been doing out in the darkness, but Wren ignored her. Whatever moment she had shared with Cassandra was over, and she now had to face the problem presented by Alexius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRRY! This took almost a month and so much has happened in that time. I've finished university, I went to sakura con, i've moved back to my parents, its been busy. 
> 
> If anyone is wondering, the insult that Wren hurls at Solas in this chaper translates to "may they dread wolf fuck your ass until you die". it is quite possibly my favourite elvhen insult, and i love making characters say it to Solas.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FAIR WARNING: the ending of this chapter is why this fic is tagged with the graphic descriptions of violence tag!

They found Dorian waiting at the Crossroads camp the next day. He was still impeccably groomed and very pleased about it. Even his white robe remained spotless in the muddy forest. Wren’s own armour had small spots of dirt and rust on it. She still needed to ask Cassandra about caring for it properly. The most the Dalish wore as armour was boiled leather.

They scrounged up whatever supplies they could from the Crossroads. It wasn’t much but they got their hands on a few health potions and Dorian had his own supply of lyrium draughts. The Crossroads were still lacking in anything like supplies, and from what Wren had overheard their food supplies were starting to run short. It wasn’t her problem, but since she had heard it she couldn’t get the thought out of her head. She was about to approach the camp’s officer to see if the Inquisition might be able to organize a hunting party, but instead a familiar redhead melted out of the trees.

Leliana moved like a ghost into the camp, a handful of lightly armoured soldiers at her back. She walked into camp like a queen and many heads bowed in her direction. Wren hadn’t even known she was there a few moments ago and yet Leliana’s presence was massive.

“Leliana. I didn’t expect to see you out here,” greeted Wren.

“Neither did I,” said Cassandra in a hard tone.

Leliana gave a small, cutting smile.

“I needed the chance to practice my skills. And it seems like you have need of me here, no?” Leliana sat down on a log, smile firmly in place.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise, but sat down as well. Wren followed suit, legs crossed on the grass. Dorian was the only one who remained standing.

“No introductions then I take it,” he said lightly, though his eyes were full of suspicion for Leliana.

There was a tense moment between the two before Wren broke it.

“This is Dorian. He has offered his help with the situation here. Dorian, this is Leliana,” said Wren, unsure if she should mention the spymaster title in his presence. She already knew of one trap, but was not certain if Dorian himself presented another.

“Well met,” said Leliana shortly, before turning to the situation at Redcliff.

Cassandra filled her in, with interjections from Wren and Dorian. Sera interjected as well, but her comments did not lend to the situation at hand unless the state of the city patrol’s breeches was imperative to the mage situation. When they were done informing Leliana of the Magister’s presence the camp was very silent. Even Solas looked unnerved at the silence, and he usually reveled in quiet. The Inquisition soldiers had gone quiet, making no pretense that they were not listening in, and the birds were quiet despite the morning hour. Leliana sat with her hands steepled under her chin in thought.

“It is definitely a trap, that much is certain,” Leliana said, finally breaking the silence. “The question is, what do we do about it? I know of a secret passage beneath the windmill that runs under the lake to the castle. We could use it to sneak in.”

“How do you know that?” asked Wren, surprised.

“It is a long story,” said Leliana with bite.

Wren backed off that line of questioning, though she was still curious. Instead her mind was working. Alexius wanted her, for whatever reason, and they had a back door into the castle.

“What if we give Alexius what he wants? I go in the front and Leliana, your people go through the passage.”

“Herald I don’t think-“ began Leliana.

“Listen, while his attention is on me your men can take out his, and we can gain the upper hand and force negotiations. As long as he doesn’t kill me right away I think it will work,” said Wren.

She hoped Leliana would agree with this before Wren chickened out of her own plan. It was sound, but it also relied on the hope that Alexius wanted her alive. Wren thought it was a good bet after having walked away from one face-to-face meeting with the man.

“Herald! I cannot allow you to do this,” said Cassandra, sitting rigid with her hands squeezed together.

“It could work. With my magic I would be able to eliminate all traces of your men entering the castle. Alexius wouldn’t suspect a thing,” said Dorian.

Wren nodded, ignoring the prickle of nerves in her belly. This was the most important Wren had ever been. She was used to being another faceless, nameless elf to humans. Among the clan she was useful, but had not yet dedicated herself to one area of the clan. Ëonwë was going to be Keeper, but Wren had always admired swordplay too much to be a traditional hunter for the clan. For the most part she helped out with odd jobs the clan needed. She never thought she’d ever be anything other than that.

“Then it is settled. We’ll go later in the day, before sunset. That gives you time to move your people into the castle Leliana and time for us to make a plan,” said Wren, feeling confident in this even though it was a trap laid for her.

“Alright,” agreed Leliana. “Dorian, come over here so we can discuss your magic.”

Dorian walked over and the two of them wandered out of earshot. Wren suspected that Leliana was not only speaking of the magic to get in the castle. The two were still close enough to be seen but their murmured conversation did not float to even Wren’s sensitive ears.

Casssandra scooted closer to Wren. Wren’s attention however was fixed on Solas for the moment.

“I think you should remain here instead of coming to the castle,” began Wren.

Solas hummed thoughtfully. “Why is that?”

“We might run into trouble at Redcliff and if we do, I want to know that you will have enough magic to help heal us rather than wasting it all fighting,” said Wren.

“I had hoped to study Alexius’ peculiar magic a bit more, but I can see where your logic is rooted,” Solas agreed.

It was then Cassandra tapped her on the shoulder. Wren turned and came face to face with Cassandra. This close Wren could see that her eyes were not black, but instead a very rich brown. She swallowed.

“I did not know you were a strategist,” said Cassandra, voice hard.

“We could have argued about what to do all day. At least we have a plan,” said Wren, confused as to why Cassandra was upset.

“We do, but I do not like it,” said Cassandra.

Wren took Cassandra’s hand. The leather may have separated their skin but the connection was still there.

“I believe that it will be all right. After all you’ll be there with me,” said Wren.

“As I said when we met, I cannot protect you.”

“Well, you didn’t have much reason to back then. You thought I had killed the Divine after all,” Wren smiled.

“I did not know you then. Now I do, and while I cannot stop you walking into danger I wish that you would not,” said Cassandra with a frown.

Wren felt something flutter in her chest. Hope perhaps. They had almost had a kiss, or at least Wren had been going for a kiss last night before Sera interrupted them, but here in broad daylight in the middle of an Inquisition camp it was harder to let that same boldness leak through.

Their moment was broken by Sera loudly blowing a raspberry behind them. They turned to see her sticking her tongue out at a disgruntled looking Solas. Sera ran away cackling as Solas wiped spattered saliva off his face with as much dignity as he could muster. Wren grinned, then got down to the business of planning how to spring Alexius’ trap.

The afternoon was a flurry of preparations. Leliana wandered around camp talking with her men, looking like the picture of serenity but oozing an aura of stress. Solas was checking their supply of potions, keeping a reserve for himself for the camp while packing up the remainder for those who would be walking into the trap. The soldiers were on edge and kept sneaking glances at Wren. Some were sad, some were hopeful, and Wren wanted to get out of that gaze as soon as possible.

They set off a lot earlier than intended. Leliana had a head start as she and her men were planning on sneaking into Redcliff unseen while Wren and her companions distracted Alexius. The road to Redcliff was eerily quiet. A few foxes and nugs darted into the underbrush as they spotted the party’s approach, but they did not encounter anything else on the road up to the city.

Redcliff itself was ominous in the fading light. The sun had just begun to sink by the time they reached the city gates. It cast eerie shadows over the city and tinged the sky a bloody red. As they approached the bridge to the castle the red sunset was reflected in the lake, making the water look as if it had been transformed into blood. Wren shivered as they walked out over the bridge. Below the water was calm, as if waiting to swallow her up when she turned her attention from it. At several points along the bridge stood sentries. All of them carried staves and watched their passage without so much as twitching. One of them had an elf with two sharp looking swords standing beside him. The elf was motionless as well, but made more of a show of watching Wren’s party walking across the lake. He seemed surprised that a fellow elf was leading the party to the castle, and somewhat awed. Wren offered a small smile as she passed, but her nerves made it come out as more of a grimace.

They were stopped at the gate by a twitchy looking guard. He held up a hand and assessed the party with his eyes, lingering over the weapons hanging off them all. His other hand was clutched tight around the grip of his sword.

“Only the Herald of Andraste may proceed,” announced the guard.

Wren put on her most authoritative voice and prayed to the Creators it wouldn’t tremble.

“Where I go, they go. If you will not allow them inside, then I will remain out here.”

The guard’s knuckles went white around his sword but let them pass without any more fuss. Wren breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t expected that to actually work. Her companions were silent as they made their way through the castle. It was unsurprising considering the amount of guards marking the halls.

It was almost more unsettling that the inside of Redcliff castle was cozy and inviting. Fires crackled merrily in every hearth, the smell of roast basted in butter and spices lingered in a few of the rooms they passed through, and the walls were draped with art and tapestries. Wren had never seen so much human art in one place. It kept the walls from being cold and grey, which Wren would have anticipated with Alexius’ scheming plans.

Alexius was waiting for them in the throne room. With his blood red coat and the light from the fires dancing around him he seemed both magical and regal. Felix stood behind his father. Even in his yellow coat he was somewhat hidden, as if he was surrounded by a dark cloud.nIt was easy to let Alexius believe that they were dumb enough to wander into his trap. Part of this was due to the fact Dorian had decided to hide out of sight of the Magister until they decided to spring the trap.

Wren stepped ahead of Sera and Cassandra, making sure all eyes in the hall were on her, and not on the shadowy figures of Leliana’s men creeping into the hall. She bit back her most scathing comments to the Magister, instead opting to channel Josephine through her speech.

When Alexius opened the floor for Wren to haggle for the mages Wren was relieved to have a natural opening to play for the time Leliana’s men would need to sneak behind the guards that lined the room. Then Felix, who had been silently observing the exchange, piped up.

“She knows everything father,” said Felix sadly.

“Felix?” Alexius had shock written all over his face.

Wren could still play for time. Her hands were sweaty and shaking in their gloves.

“Your son is concerned you’re involved with something terrible,” said Wren, hoping that appealing to Alexius’ love for his son would be the right play.

“So speaks the thief!” Apparently not the right play. “Do you think you can turn my son against me? You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark, a gift you don’t even understand, and think you’re in control? You are nothing but a mistake.”

That would have been a lot more cutting if Wren didn’t think the same thing herself. Calling her a thief was new. That part was far more interesting.

“Care to enlighten us then?” asked Wren with a gesture from her marked hand. “Tell me what this mark on my hand is for.”

“It belongs too your betters. You wouldn’t even begin to understand it’s purpose.”

Felix tried one more time to appeal to the father he once knew, but was shrugged off.

“Father don’t you know what you sound like?”

“He sounds exactly like every sort of villainous cliché we expected him to be,” said a proud voice from the back of the room. Dorian had finally made his presence known. Leliana’s men must have been in place.

Dorian walked up the hall to stand beside Wren with a look of contempt on his face. Whatever Alexius said he had already decided it would not affect him.

“You should have joined me when you had the chance. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from it’s own ashes,” said Alexius reverently.

Wren seized the chance to find out about what hidden enemy they faced.

“He killed the Divine. Is he a mage?” said Wren quickly.

“He will become a God.”

Wren swallowed. There were two things possible: Alexius was a crazed fanatic, or there was a very very powerful man running unchecked through Thedas.

“He will make the world bow to mages once more.”

“Alexius, this is what you and I talked about never wanting to happen. Why would you support this?” growled Dorian.

Felix too took up the appeal.

“Come on Father, give up the Venatori and let’s go home.”

“No, ha can save you, Felix,” said Alexius gently. “The Elder One promised if I can undo the mistake at the Temple.”

Wren wondered, and not for the first time, what exactly had happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. She did not get long to think about it, as Alexius finally gave the order to seize the Inquisition party.

“Seize them. The Elder One demands this woman’s life.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise and Wren heard the noise of a sword being drawn. She did not reach for her own, she trusted that Leliana’s part of the plan would work.

It did. The Venatori guards lining the room barely had time to take a step before Leliana’s men grabbed them from behind and slit their throats in one fluid motion. Wren swallowed a gag at the sound of bodies hitting the floor. Alexius took a step back on the dais before rage twisted his features.

“You are a mistake, you never should have existed,” he growled between clenched teeth.

Alexius had something in his hand.

“Oh fuck,” said Dorian under his breath.

Whatever it was glowed a shadowed green that grew into a storm of light in seconds.

“No!” cried Dorian, lashing out with magic.

The spell hit Alexius and sent him sprawling to the floor. Whatever magic he had been building exploded into a rift, darker than any Wren had come across on her own. She barely had time to register it before she was sucked into the swirling mass and her vision was clouded by darkness.

With a bang Wren was jolted back to her senses. She was waist deep in dark water and two armoured men were running at her swords drawn. Pushing down the panic of water lapping at her waist Wren drew her greatsword and parried the first blow. Magic flew past her and into the other man. For a second she was hopeful that everyone had come through the portal with her, but as the battle ended and she turned around it was just Dorian. He moved towards her and it sent a wave of water licking at her chest.

Wren’s lungs tightened. There was no way to get out of the water and Creators only knew what lay beneath the dark surface. Her thoughts spiraled until a hand clamped around her shoulder. She let out a breathless scream and lashed out. Her fist collided with something soft and fleshy but whoever it was held on tight. Slowly a voice filtered into her consciousness.

“You’re fine, it’s fine, yes we are standing in stagnant water in some kind of dungeon that is never going to come out of my robes, but we are ok. You are the Herald of Andraste, and you’re fine,” said Dorian quietly in a gentle monologue.

Slowly Wren came back to herself. One deep breath followed another and the tension left her. Wren would have fallen if not for Dorian’s grip on her arms.

“Back with me then? Excellent,” said Dorian, releasing his grip slowly but staying close.

Wren looked around. They were indeed in some sort of dungeon. A flooded dungeon. That was lit not by torches but large stalagmites of red lyrium glowing from every corner. This was more what Wren had imagined when walking into Redcliff castle, but how did they get here?

“Where are we?” asked Wren.

“I have about as much knowledge as you do, but I rather think we should be asking where we are instead.”

Wren carefully waded out of the cell and into the hall. It was flooded and rooms were blocked off by debris. Something big had happened at Redcliff if part of the lake was flooding into the lower floors. Nothing moved in the dim light but them, not even a rat or a roach skittered by. Wren moved slowly and cautiously in the deep water. Dorian remained close but said nothing as Wren slowly toed her way through the water. Eventually they came across a set of stairs leading up and away from the dungeon. The stairs were dark without red lyrium lighting their way. Wren was just glad to be out of the water. As they reached the top of the stairs they came out into a room that was lit by light filtering through a giant hole in the ceiling. Water dripped down on them in fat drops. The room was simply bridges over an abyss, probably a way of impeding prisoners’ escapes. And of course, there were Venatori.

Wren pulled her sword from it’s sheath and charged. Between her and Dorian and the element of surprise the Venatori never stood a chance. One even fell from the bridge after only being knocked off balance. Wren never heard him hit the bottom. The battle was over quickly and Wren gave Dorian a look out of the corner of her eye.

“You know, when I left the clan, I never thought I’d be jumping through time with a Tevinter,” Wren finally cracked a smile.

Dorian laughed and clapped her on the shoulder.

“Good to see you have recovered your spirits.”

“Not entirely. What do you think happened here?” Wren’s smile faded as she looked around at the mess of the dungeons.

Dorian looked grim. “If the Venatori are still here, we can assume that Alexius never left. This Elder One might have succeeded.”

They descended the stairs at the other end of the bridge. Wren was glad this area was less flooded than where they had landed. There was still piles of debris they had to climb over but anything was better than the water.

“If The Elder One succeeded, what happened to the Inquisition?” asked Wren.

Wren already knew, but she had hopes that some of them may have survived. Her thoughts turned to Cassandra. What had she done when Wren suddenly disappeared from the throne room? She had probably died in whatever fight ensued. Wren felt her heart sink.

“Maybe we’ll find prisoners down here.” said Dorian.

Wren nodded. There were only a few doors that looked like they would open. Both rotting and damp, but the first one opened with little resistance. It opened into another set of stairs, ones that Wren walked down cautiously in case there were any more Venatori waiting at the bottom.

There were no Venatori, but great chunks of red lyrium behind prison bars. Wren signaled to Dorian to stay at the foot of the stairs as she walked nervously down the row. She peered through the bars for any sign of life but found none. As she turned to go back to Dorian she caught a flash of clothing in the dim light. She walked to the bars and peered in.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona?”

Wren wasn’t certain it was her. Or if they were still alive. She was half buried in a great spire of red lyrium. Then the figure moved. It was Fiona, but her eyes were a glowing red like the lyrium around her. Wren took a step back.

“You’re alive?” whispered Fiona in an echoing, inhuman voice.

Dorian stepped up behind her, abandoning his post at the stairs to peer inquisitively into the prison.

“Is that lyrium growing from you?” he asked.

Wren thought that was rather insensitive, but was also curious what the answer would be.

“If you’re around it for long enough this is the result. Then they mine your corpse for more.”

Wren frowned. The Venatori were cruel indeed. But what did they need all the red lyrium for?

“Can you tell us the date? Its very important,” said Dorian quickly.

“Harvestmere, 9:42 Dragon,” wheezed Fiona.

“We’ve missed an entire year!” exclaimed Dorian.

“We have to go back and put this right. You’ve studied time magic, Dorian. You know how to do it right?” asked Wren with hopeful eyes.

“Please, stop this from happening,” gasped out Fiona in that awful voice. “The Elder One, no one challenges him and lives.”

Wren swallowed hard. The Inquisition had likely been demolished quickly and without mercy. She hoped Haven’s citizens and the civilians that kept the Inquisition running had been able to get away safely.

“Then we’ll just have to avoid this Elder One before we get back home,” Wren said in a voice thick with emotion. Too much emotion for any levity to come through.

Wren backed up and with one last look at the broken figure of Fiona scurried up the stairs. Dorian frowned next to her as she stopped at the top of the stairs.

“This certainly is a nightmare isn’t it?” said Dorian lightly.

“Pinch me and wake me up,” said Wren. “This is awful. I don’t know what to do or how to begin doing it. Talking to Fiona made this place real. Everyone I knew is dead and I couldn’t help them.”

Wren’s fingers dug into her biceps through her armour. Her breath came in shallow pants as the reality of the situation sunk in. They were in the future, Fiona was slowly being crystalized into evil lyrium, and everyone Wren loved was gone.

“No need to fret, dear Herald. Soon this future will be a distant memory when we are back in the past,” said Dorian.

“Do you really think you can get us back?” asked Wren, expecting Dorian’s bravado to crumble along with her last shred of hope.

“Undoubtedly. I just need time to think up the spell that will undo whatever magic Alexius unleashed. We’ll be back in time for tea.”

Wren couldn’t help it. She launched herself at him and hugged him as hard as she could. He let out a little whine as her armour constricted around him in a painful way and awkwardly patted her head.

“Yes yes, I am very good at magic, now please stop crying on me. These robes were expensive,” said Dorian.

Wren decided not to remind him that he had been wading through Creators knew what in the flooded dungeon. She tried a smile through her tear-stained face and Dorian gave her one full of brilliantly white teeth in return. He then pulled out a handkerchief from some hidden pocket and handed it to her.

“Best wipe up your face. Appearances can do half your battle for you and no one is going to tremble in fear if you run at them blubbering. Though come to think of it, that might be surprising enough to work. When we’re not busy being stuck in the future we should try that out sometime. But first we need to find Alexius’ amulet.”

By the time Dorian finished his little rant they had nearly come back to the platform room. Wren had wiped her face as best she could and stuffed the handkerchief into her pack, making a mental note to find a replacement one for Dorian. She had practically ruined whatever soft material it was made of with her tears and blowing her nose. This time in the room another bridge connected to the platform and more Venatori were examining their fallen comrades.

When the Venatori saw them they jumped for their weapons. Wren and Dorian made short work of them, working in tandem as if they had done so for years. The last one fell to Wren’s greatsword as she spun into him and smashed clear through his thin armour. Wren stepped back and looked around. The new bridge also led to a set of stairs that curved downwards. More dungeon was not what Wren wanted, but there seemed to be little choice in the matter. Perhaps they would be able to find a mechanism to release the final bridge and get them out.

Wren led the way down the stairs yet again, coming to another trashed room full of red lyrium and water. Two doors remained unblocked. Wren went to the first and it opened into another set of stairs. She looked back at Dorian, who nodded, and continued downwards. As she got to the bottom she could hear someone singing. Or trying to sing. They kept stopping and trying out the same verse with different words. Their voice was echoing in the same inhuman way that Fiona’s had, though there was something familiar about this one. Wren followed it to the end of the long room and found herself face to face with a grimy, battered Sera. Wren started back at the same time Sera did.

“Nonono!, you can’t be here, you’re dead and they don’t come back.” Sera pressed herself into the far wall of the cell. Wren was glad she could at least move around, unlike poor Fiona.

“It’s all right Sera, I’m not dead. See, still breathing,” said Wren with a small smile.

Sera glared. Her hair had grown out matted into dirty clumps. Her eyes were hollow and sunken and glowing a vicious red. They had already started infecting her with the lyrium then. Her clothes were ripped and dirty, no longer bright and cheerful as they had been when they set out for Redcliff.

“I’m not going to believe some demon or whatever,” said Sera sharply.

“Oh for the love of-“ Dorian said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alexius used time magic. No one is dead.”

Wren thought that some people might be dead, but kept that to herself. Sera was already upset enough.

“Talk sense or go away!” said Sera.

“I promise it’s really me,” said Wren. “If I could make it make sense I would, but we need to stop Alexius from ever doing this by going back.”

Wren set to work on the lock. Lock picking had never been one of her skills, but the thing was old and rusting and it only needed a few good knocks with the pommel of her sword to shatter open. As soon as the door swung open Sera scooped her into a bone-breaking hug. Wren awkwardly hugged her back, giving her little pats on the back before Sera finally let her go.

It didn’t take much poking around to find Sera a bow and semi-full quiver. A box in another cell held what she needed. Wren tore a strip from her own tunic and gave it to Sera to tie her hair back. Sera fiddled with the bow for a minute, uncharacteristically quiet before turning to Wren.

“You know, the day you died, I ran out of arrows making them pay. Then they got us and it didn’t matter anymore. Now that you’re here I’ll friggin die just to spit in their faces.”

“Don’t say that. I’m going to get us out of this future. All of us. You said ‘they got us’, does that mean they’re holding anyone else in here?” asked Wren.

Wren missed the look that Dorian and Sera shared in her excitement at potentially finding someone else. Sera’s eyes skittered across the ground as she rolled her bow between her hands.

“Well, after you went the Seeker and I took out as many of them as we could before they grabbed us, stuck us both behind bars. I haven’t seen her in months, they used to have us down here together but then they finally realized we could talk to each other so she got moved. Dunno what happened to Solas, I think he buggered off at the first sign of trouble,” said Sera and she spat on the ground.

“What about Leliana and the others? Any news?” asked Wren.

“Oh, they have Leliana here somewhere. She looked right awful last I saw her. They want her to give them information about something. Cullen tried attacking after you died, but you know the Inquisition was no army. They gave Josephine a public trial and execution to, I dunno, intimidate the nobility.”

Wren felt tears prick the corner of her eyes. Her heart hurt even for Cullen the Templar and his failed attack. This future had to be stopped. The sadness kindled a fire in her soul. Alexius would feel her sword like Fen’Harel’s bite for every life he had taken in this future.

“We should find both Cassandra and Leliana before we confront Alexius,” said Wren.

The trio made their way up the stairs and opened the other unblocked door. Another room of cells greeted them. It was quiet as Wren entered the room, but the sounds of whispered prayer reached Wren after she’d walked a few paces into the room. In the last cell of the row Wren found Cassandra on her knees whispering a fervent prayer.

As Wren’s splashing footsteps drew closer Cassandra broke off her prayer and looked up. She rocked back onto her bottom in shock as Wren walked up to the bars and crouched in front of her. Wren wasn’t quite able to resist reaching through the bars and Cassandra did not hesitate to grab her hand.

“You’ve returned to us! Can it be? Has Andraste given us another chance?” Cassandra asked quickly.

Wren squeezed her calloused hand. She opened her mouth but Cassandra continued.

“Maker forgive me I failed you, I failed everyone. The end must truly be upon us if the dead return to life,” Cassandra’s shoulders trembled.

“You didn’t fail anyone. I never died,” said Wren, heart breaking at how much despair was in Cassandra’s voice.

“I was there! The Magister obliterated you with a gesture.”

Wren shook her head. “Alexius used time magic. He sent us forward in time. My fine Tevinter companion can explain more if you like.”

“If we can get to Alexius we can go back in time,” added Dorian.

“You can make it so that none of this ever happens?” asked Cassandra.

“That is the hope,” answered Wren.

Cassandra’s own grip turned to iron.

“After you died we could not stop the Elder One from rising. Empress Celene was murdered. Nothing could stop them,” Cassandra shook her head.

“I’m sorry. I wish I was there to help stop all that.”

“With luck, you will be,” said Dorian.

Wren gave Cass a once over. Her hair was braided haphazardly and some of the shorter bits fell into lyrium-red eyes. She also hadn’t made a move to stand.

“Are you hurt?” asked Wren.

Cassandra did a double-take, but recovered quickly. She let go of Wren’s hand and stood.

“I am fine,” said Cassandra. She was favouring her left leg, but not so much that Wren would call her out on it.

“All right, if you two are done I’ll open the door now,” said Sera.

She inspected the lock, far less rusty than the one on her door had been. Then she looked around the room, pulling nails out of debris and finding a misplaced dagger in a bag. With those she made short work of the lock. The door swung open and Wren gave Cassandra the same treatment that Sera had given her. She pulled Cassandra into her arms and held her tight. One hand buried into the messy braid and the other tight about her. She smelled like old sweat and a number of unpleasant things but underneath all that there was still a hint of something so very Cassandra and so very alive. Cassandra’s arms came up around her just as tight.

Sera cleared her throat and The two sprang apart.

“Think its best we get you back to the past as soon as possible, yeah?” said Sera with a smirk.

Wren’s cheeks blossomed with heat. Dorian was glancing between her and Cassandra but said nothing. His eyes were curious as he studied the two of them. When Wren gave him a look he simply shrugged and made a sweeping gesture to usher them out of the cellblock. Back up the stairs they went.

The final bridge was lowered and yet more Venatori lay in store. Cassandra scooped up a sword and a dented but serviceable shield from one of the bodies already on the platform. Between her and Sera the Venatori fell quickly. The set of stairs and the floor above were blessedly free of water, though they were all now uncomfortably aware of their feet squelching in their boots. Sera kept pulling faces at the squishing noises.

It wasn’t long before they could hear the screams. In the stone it was nearly impossible to tell which room they were coming from, but they all recognized Leliana’s voice. They all sprang into action opening doors left and right until they burst through the correct one. Leliana was strung up by her wrists in the centre of the room. In the momentary surprise of their entrance she seized the closest one by the neck with her legs and twisted sharply. A crack echoed through the room and the other Venatori torturers sprang into action.

Wren ducked a blow with a sword and came up swinging. Her blade was parried, but the man went down with a cry and one of Sera’s arrows sticking out of his back. Wren turned to the next, already beginning her spin. She slashed into him like a hurricane separating him from important limbs. Behind her Wren dimly registered the wide variety of curses that Sera was spewing with each arrow. Somewhere in the middle of the fight Leliana had gotten herself loose and found her own bow and was shooting like she hadn’t just been suspended by her wrists for Creators knew how long.

Five of them fighting in the cramped space was difficult. Wren ducked just in time as a fireball sent by Dorian went whizzing past. One of Sera’s arrows broke in a swing of Cassandra’s sword. Luckily their number also meant that the Venatori had no chance to stand against them. Wren turned to face Leliana. The woman’s once beautiful face was riddled with scars, and Wren had no doubt they continued down under her clothes. She slung the bow over a shoulder and eyed up Wren, calculating.

“We must find Alexius,” said Wren.

“The magister is probably in his chambers,” said Leliana shortly.

There was fury rolling off Leliana in waves as she took the lead through the rest of the castle. Wren wondered how much of it she had wandered trying to overthrow Alexius and the Elder One before she was captured. She led them through twisting corridors and through narrow passages between walls.

At one point they ran into a rift and some demons in the ruins of a great hall. This rift felt stronger to Wren. Her whole hand went numb as she closed it. Her own shout was lost in the echoing bang that shook the unstable room. Bits of rock and dust rained down on them from the ceiling. Cassandra and Sera pulled a still-reeling Wren out of the way of a particularly large stone.

“The rift was stronger than anything we’ve come across yet,” said Wren once the dust had settled.

“The veil has almost been completely destroyed. Now, lets move on,” said Leliana.

She led the way through a giant door and out into the open. Redcliff castle had been torn apart. The walls of the hall where they stood were crumbling and the ceiling had all but been destroyed. Wren looked to the sky to see it a grayish green colour, and the breach spread across most of it. There seemed to be floating buildings in it, backed onto a sky the colour of poison. It took Wren a moment to figure out she was looking directly into the fade.

“Kaffas,” said Dorian.

Wren didn’t know what he said, but she could only assume it was an understatement. No words could describe her horror at seeing the sky ripped open. If this is what she could prevent with the mark she was going to do her damnedest to make sure the breach was shut and this Elder One was stopped. She couldn’t let this happen, no matter what. She was going to get them all out of this future and prevent it from happening.

As they continued Wren recognized where they were. This was the way to the throne room. She wouldn’t have recognized it but for a tapestry hanging off the wall, half rotted but the picture was still clear. The big door to the throne room was still intact. Wren marched up the stairs in the lead and wrenched open the door. At the end of the long room stood Alexius. He was staring into the fire, the only light in the room, and did not so much as twitch twitch as they approached the dais.

“Alexius!” growled Wren. “Look at what you’ve done. All this suffering, and for what?”

Alexius finally turned. He looked tired and defeated. There were lines on his face that he hadn’t had a year earlier and shadows under his eyes that had deepened into bruises.

“For my son,” he answered simply. “But it means nothing now.”

Wren started when she noticed Felix crouched beside the fire. His face was gaunt and his eyes hollow. He took no notice of them. In the firelight Wren could make out black lines running over his skin like veins. Perhaps they were veins. Whatever Alexius had bargained for his son it clearly hadn’t worked.

“Was it worth it? Everything you did to the world, to yourself?” Dorian asked. His voice was thick with emotion. Wren couldn’t fathom what might be running through his mind right then.

“It doesn’t matter now. All we can do is wait for the end.”

Alexius sounded so broken. Wren wondered if he was so broken to help them defeat his past self. After all, if he was just as unhappy with this future as they were, he would want to change it as well.  Wren stepped closer and spoke.

“We can change this. If you give Dorian the amulet he can get us back to the past. This doesn’t have to happen,” said Wren, gesturing at the breach through the broken beams of the ceiling.

“I have tried. The past cannot be undone. I that I have done, all that I have betrayed, all that I have wrought, and for what? Ruin and death, there is nothing else. The Elder One comes for me, for you, for us all.”

Wren shifted her weight from foot to foot and fiddled with the lacings of her gauntlets as Alexius spoke. She had faith that Dorian could do it, but Alexius’ words were worrying.

There was a sudden scuffle of sound from the fireplace. Wren looked over to see that Leliana had seized the lifeless body of Felix and dragged him up by the collar of his jacket. Her face was determined as she held a knife to Felix’s throat.

“That’s Felix,” said Dorian, finally recognizing what had become of his friend. “Maker’s breath Alexius, what have you done!”

At the same time Wren shouted at Leliana.

 “No!”

“Please, release my son. I’ll do anything you ask,” begged Alexius.

“Leliana let him go,” said Wren. This was not what they should be doing. They could bargain with Alexius or appeal to whatever good might be left in him. This was a good way to not get the amulet.

“You know what I want?” said Leliana. “I want the world back.”

And with that she drew the dagger across Felix’s neck. Blackened blood spurted from the wound as he fell, but Felix made no sound as he slumped to the floor. Wren closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. She heard Alexius howl in rage and sorrow. Leliana had chosen their fate. She opened them and charged down Alexius.

Wren dodged the first spell with ease. Grief made Alexius’ aim sloppy. She raised her sword to cut through him crossways but as she swung he vanished. A jolt of electricity zapped her from behind. Wren stumbled, her muscles twitching, and turned to see Alexius at the other end of the hall. An arrow sprouted from his shoulder but he kept firing spells. As Cassandra drew close with her blade he vanished again, reappearing nearer to Wren. He was distracted by Leliana and Sera’s arrows, allowing for Wren to get up behind him. She stabbed him through the heart with surprisingly little effort. He must not have been wearing mail under his coat. He gurgled out an incomprehensible word and slumped forward. His dead weight on the blade was enough for Wren to be forced to drop it.

Dorian stepped over to Alexius and gently closed his blank eyes. He looked up at Wren with a face lined with grief.

“He wanted to die, didn’t he? All the lies he told himself, all the justifications… He lost Felix long ago and he didn’t even notice. Oh Alexius,” sighed Dorian.

He stood with the amulet in a white knuckled grip.

“We can still help him. Both of them,” said Wren.

“Give me an hour to work out the spell he used and I should be able to reopen the rift.”

“An hour? That’s impossible you must go now,” demanded Leliana.

Something unearthly shrieked loud enough to shake the whole castle. Wren looked up and saw a dark shadow swooping overhead.

“It’s the Elder One,” confirmed Leliana.

“You need to go, now,” said Cassandra, as she shared a look with Sera.

Wren looked between them confused, then puzzled it out.

“No. I will not leave you to die!” Wren grabbed on to the two of them.

“We can hold the outer door to buy you more time,” said Cassandra, an apology in her eyes.

“Besides, we’re already too far gone with this lyrium thing, yeah? Quicker this way for sure,” said Sera cheerfully despite the fact Wren could feel her hand trembling in hers.

The two pulled away from Wren but she lunged for Cassandra again.

“Wait! Please, I can’t just let you die,” said Wren, her eyes prickling with tears.

Cassandra shook her head but didn’t push Wren away. Instead she pulled her closer.

“It is the only way. If you succeed you will see me again in moments.”

“Please, I can’t let you walk out there without saying it.” Wren wondered where here bravery had come from, but figured seeing the woman she loved walking to her death was motivation enough. She pulled Cassandra forward and whispered into her ear, “I love you.”

Instead of pulling away as Wren expected, Cassandra took her face in her hands and gave Wren the gentlest kiss imaginable. Despite their chapped lips and the grime coating both of them Wren couldn’t think of a better kiss.

Then Cassandra was gone and the door slammed shut with a final bang. Wren knew Dorian and Leliana were staring at her but she didn’t care. The prickle in her eyes returned and Wren knew she was crying. A hand pulled her back but Wren’s eyes were fixed on the door. Somehow the noises of battle beyond the thick door were louder than the muffled voices of Dorian and Leliana.

Distantly she heard Leliana say “You have as much time as I have arrows”. Then Leliana walked past her to take up a stance by the door.

Wren watched as Leliana nocked an arrow to the bow, took aim, and began praying. The noises outside grew louder and louder until finally it fell silent. Wren’s heart sank, she knew what that meant. Sure enough the door burst open moments later and demons poured in. Leliana began firing, but Wren’s eyes were fixed on the incoming demons. One dragged in the broken body of Sera by one leg before tossing her aside like garbage. Another carried the severed head of Cassandra Pentaghast. The demon carrying it threw it up on the dais, where it landed with a squish and rolled to a rest at Wren’s feet. She jumped backwards with a cry, and a hand on her arm dragged her further. Again the world went black, but the angry black eyes of Cassandra were burned into Wren’s own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRY KIDS  
> both for the late update and the kiss and behead. It's satisfying to finally write it though, this is what i had planned in my first plottings of Wren's story. Who knows, maybe Wren and Cass will kiss again before the end of this story?  
> I have a little bit of excuse as to why i suck so bad getting this out. I'm currently trying to find rest of my life employment and have very VERY poor health. it's been a busy time, i'm sorry.
> 
> Also this chapter reads (on my word processor) as 7777 words, so I deem it lucky for all of you reading this!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter, filler chapter, but hopefully still good.

Wren fell backwards out of the hissing green rift, landing squarely on her back on the stone floor. A heartbeat later Dorian fell out of the rift and landed on her. He scrambled to his feet to confront Alexius but Wren let herself lie winded in order for her mind to catch up with what happened. Two sets of hands lifted her to a sitting position. Sera on her left, Cassandra on her right. Even through the armour Wren could feel the warmth of their skin. The two were so blessedly alive, unbroken by the Elder One, no red lyrium corrupting them from the inside out.

As Wren was helped to her feet she had to blink away the memory of glowing red eyes from their faces. She clung to them even after they released her arms. The room around her was bright and whole, not a dimly lit ruin. Distantly Wren registered that people were speaking but she couldn’t focus on the words. Her head was filled with cotton that she couldn’t wade through. Until someone shook her shoulder. Wren slowly dragged herself back to reality and came face to face with the dark eyes of Cassandra. Wren jumped back, staring not at the living Cassandra but at the severed head rolling across the floor.

Another shake and Wren blinked back to reality. Cassandra was in front of her, hands on her shoulders and concern in the set of her mouth.

“Herald, are you all right?” she asked gently.

Wren nodded, still only half aware of Cassandra. She took in the room again. Alexius was gone, along with Leliana’s men. No doubt they were taking him to some prison. Dorian was standing with Felix on the dais, though he was watching her. Fiona was standing next to a very angry looking human woman with blonde hair. Wren had the funny feeling she had missed quite a bit.

“What did I miss?” asked Wren.

“Queen Anora wants the mages out of Ferelden. You were the one who wanted them as allies, what is your decision?” Cassandra nodded towards Fiona.

Wren looked at Fiona. The Grand Enchanter looked like nothing more than a scared elf beside the Queen of Ferelden. Wren should be panicking over being in the presence of royalty but found herself unable to care in that moment. Closing the breach should be their first priority and they needed the mages to do it, no matter if Wren was going to jump every time she saw a spell she did not recognize being cast.

“The mages come with us as allies,” said Wren. Her voice was stronger than she felt at the moment.

“Very well.” Cassandra frowned, but did not voice her displeasure.

Queen Anora appeared appeased and swept from the room with a flourish of rich skirts. Fiona spouted some words of thanks that Wren didn’t quite catch before vanishing to gather the mages. The hall was quiet but for their breathing. Wren was aware they were all watching her with varying levels of subtlety –Felix was winning. It was Dorian who broke the silence.

“What will become of Felix?” he asked, deflecting the attention from Wren onto his friend.

Wren took a deep breath and shook her head. “I see no harm in him coming with us if he wants to take the Elder One down as much as we do.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise and Sera glared, but neither voiced an objection. Leaving was quiet. The Magisters had vanished from their posts, though Wren spotted the elf with the two sharp looking swords standing on the bridge. He was looking around with wide eyes, no doubt left behind by his master. Wren motioned for him to follow, sure that he would without complaint. She’d set him up at Haven later, send him back with Leliana for now. No matter that she wished nothing more to fall apart, the fellow elf deserved freedom. Maybe Wren would send him to the clan if he wished.

The odd group made their way back to camp slowly, though Wren could remember little of the trek from Redcliff. Many of the rebel mages and Templars had seen the Inquisition gathering strength in the area and had decided to move on. Solas and Leliana were waiting at the camp. Solas was seated alone on the outskirts, his eyes closed in slumber though they flicked open as the group approached. Leliana was pouring over maps with Scout Harding. Both of them came to greet Wren’s group as they entered the camp. Leliana stopped short when she saw Wren’s face and frowned. Solas looked as calm as ever but the lines around his eyes were tight.

“I sensed a disturbance in the veil?” asked Solas lightly.

All of the party members and Felix exchanged glances.

“My people told me that you travelled through a rift, Herald. Was it the fade?” asked Leliana.

“No,” said Wren, glancing at the listening inquisition scouts. “Perhaps this would be a conversation best had back at Haven.”

Solas frowned but Leliana nodded her assent.

“My men and I will head out for Haven immediately and deliver our reports to Cullen and Josephine.”

Wren nodded, then remembered their tag along. “Leliana, if you wouldn’t mind, this elf was freed from the Venatori in Redcliff, would you mind bringing him to camp and seeing that he is fed and a bed is found for him?”

Leliana nodded, and Wren gestured for the elf to join Leliana. He looked at the human warily, but did not ignore Wren. He joined her, half a step behind Leliana’s shoulder, and looked at Wren for reassurance. She nodded, and the elf followed Leliana into the night.

Wren watched them go, before her legs wobbled and she listed sideways into Dorian. Now that they were safe at camp her energy flagged. It was not that late into the night, but she and Dorian had wandered in the future for several hours before returning. Her stumble caused several shouts and Dorian gently lowered her to sit on a log before joining her with a great sigh.

“It has been a rather long day, hasn’t it?” said Dorian. “I do rather like getting my beauty sleep.”

Wren nodded and yawned.

“Before you sleep, Herald, please allow me to look you over,” said Solas.

“If you insist,” said Wren, too tired to argue.

Solas raised a hand and the green light of his magic washed over her in a gentle wave. It was comforting. And if Wren closed her eyes she could imagine it was Keeper Istimaethoriel’s magic. Humans couldn’t get the feel of it right, but Solas’s magic was elvhen and more gentle. Solas hummed, but stepped back soon enough.

“Well?” asked Cassandra. Wren hadn’t even noticed the Seeker coming up behind her.

“Our Lady Herald is uninjured,” said Solas. Wren sensed a but hidden in his words. She would have to speak with him later.

“Great. May I go to bed now?” asked Wren.

“Of course,” said Cassandra.

Wren heaved herself upright with a grunt of effort and tottered over to her tent. She only paused to throw off her armour before collapsing face first on top of her bedroll. She didn’t bother getting in between the blankets before closing her eyes. She was just about to nod off when the cold dead eyes of Cassandra flashed through her mind.

Wren shot up with a gasp. Outside she heard the muted tones of Cassandra interrogating Dorian. Wren’s heart thundered, pressing itself to her ribcage. After a few deep breaths Wren lay back down. This time she was wary as she closed her eyes. Again behind her closed eyes Cassandra’s head rolled to a stop in front of her. The scene played over and over again until Wren was sure she was going to empty her stomach. There was a rustling of the tent flaps and Cassandra came in. Wren listened as Cassandra quietly stripped off her boots and armour before crawling into her own bedroll. Within a minute her breathing evened out. Wren stared up at the dark ceiling of the tent and listened to Cassandra’s even breathing. Sometime before the pale fingers of dawn touched the sky Wren gave in to exhaustion and slept.

The trek back to Haven on horseback was slow. Despite setting out before the sun had even thought about warming the air they wandered back into the village just as the first moon slipped over the horizon to begin its ascent. Wren had a feeling the others were keeping the pace for her, and she reckoned that she still looked a bit shell-shocked. She didn’t even mind being on the horse. Her hands clutched instinctively at the front of the saddle, but with her mind elsewhere her body actually relaxed into the horse’s movement. Sera spent the morning trying to joke with her or chat, but gave up with a curse sometime in the early afternoon and sulked for about an hour before deciding that annoying Solas was the best way to pass the time. Dorian rode beside Wren often. He was also quiet while they rode, though engaged in polite conversation with Cassandra from time to time. He mostly asked questions about a rank of Nevarran mage called the Mortalitasi, but necromancy had no charms that Wren wanted to overhear. Wren supposed the horror of that future would only remain with the two of them. They could tell the others what happened, but they would not live with the memory of the breach ripped across the entire sky or their friends dying while they watched. Wren spent most of the ride trying to shake the memory of Cassandra’s dead eyes.

Instead she tried to focus on their kiss. Rushed and panicked as Wren was in that moment, it had felt so right. The one bit of right in a world so wrong. Wren snuck a glance at Cassandra and felt her cheeks heat at the memory, only to drain of colour when she turned and Wren caught sight of those eyes and remembered what had happened after such a wonderful kiss. The two images chased each other around and around in her mind, exhausting Wren with their ability to make her elated one minute and terrified the next. Wren was only jolted out of her thoughts by the sun slinking over the jagged horizon.

They were greeted cheerfully by the watch as they rode up to the gate. Horncalls and cheers met them as they dismounted and handed their mounts off to waiting hostlers. Wren couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. Really she just wanted to go to bed. She sent a longing glance at her cabin while the others chivvied her onwards. A fair number of people gave them all claps on the shoulder and shook their hands as they passed. Others frowned at them like mothers of disobedient children. Waiting for them at the foot of the stairs to the chantry was an irate looking Cullen. He thundered towards them with heavy steps. Wren stood her ground, too tired to be intimidated by him. He stopped a pace away from Wren, arms crossed and scanning her with his eyes.

“Commander,” said Wren.

Cullen was silent for a moment, then relaxed.

“Herald, I am glad you have returned safely,” said Cullen, voice coated in relief. “Leliana reported you were unharmed, but I did not believe it.”

He then turned to Cassandra.

 “And Leliana informed me that you were the one who was responsible for the decision to request aid from the mages.”

“You were the only one not in favour,” said Cassandra. “I was not going to wait until the veil dried up for you to change your mind.”

Cullen flushed but said nothing in response. Wren was glad of that. She did not want to be stuck in the middle of a screaming match with her already fried nerves. She did have a suggestion to make Cullen more accepting of the mages.

“Before you go on about needing Templars and all that, what if we asked Madame de Fer if she would be willing to help Fiona teach and guide the mages? That way the mages can govern themselves, and the few Templars we have in our ranks would be enough to take care of any stray abominations?” asked Wren, right before she let out a jaw-cracking yawn.

It also took Wren several moments to realize everyone was staring at her. Cullen’s mouth was even hanging open comically. Wren had to swallow her laughter.

“That is a good idea,” said Cassandra.

“I will bring it up with Madame de Fer before the bulk of the mages arrive. It’s not a bad suggestion, although I would feel better with more Templars among us. If only for the reassurance to the civillians,” said Cullen, though he did not push it further.

Cullen then noticed the new addition to their party. He looked Dorian up and down with a frown on his face, eyes lingering on the Tevinter-made staff on his back.

“And who, pray tell, is this?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, we gonna get a Daisy and a Bull in the next chapter, i promise. Then it'll be 2-4 chapters and we done this fic, but not Wren's story


	13. Chapter 13

There was a few scrambled days of organizing as the mages streamed into Haven. The village was already packed with soldiers and refugees and volunteers before the mages arrived, and the influx of people only made it worse. Wren spent several hours each day either roaming the area around Haven, or shut up in the rafters of the chantry. She had given up her own cabin to a group of mage children and had packed herself and her bedroll into the loft above Harritt’s forge. She almost regretted it, but one of the children had been a small elf, blonde like her brother had been. Wren would do anything to help them for that reason alone.

On the third day after they arrived back from Redcliff Wren was sitting in the high branches of a tree when she saw a familiar dwarf crest the ridge. Varric had returned, and he was not alone. His companion was small, and wrapped in a green shawl. Wren quickly scrambled down the tree and went to greet them. She might not admit it, but Haven was a bit grim without the dwarf to lighten her spirits.

Wren dropped out of the tree right as Varric and his friend passed underneath it. The two of them jumped about a foot in the air as Wren landed in the snow in front of them, thanking the Creators that the snow cushioned her landing.

“I know I call you Birdie and all that, but you might be taking it a little far,” said Varric, scolding with a smile.

“Getting too old for all this excitement, Varric?” needled Wren.

“Ha! Never,” said Varric, then turned to his companion. “Birdie, I’d like you to meet Daisy here.”

Varric’s companion lifted the shawl from around her head and Wren was briefly surprised to see an elf. Then Varric’s _Tale of the Champion_ floated through her mind. How could she forget one of the main characters.

“Varric! Introduce me properly. En’an’sal’en, I’m Merrill. Or maybe you already knew that. Anyway I’ve spent much of my time researching elvhen artifacts so I hope I can be of some use.”

Wren stared up at her. Merrill’s vallaslin was a rare pattern. She’d only seen it once before when she was very young. Before she lost Ëonwë. When Merrill offered her hand to shake Wren took it absently and gave what was probably the most pathetic handshake of her life.

“An’daran Atish’an. Your clan was up on the broken mountain.”

She meant to say ‘Hi I’m Wren’.

Merrill’s eyes widened for a second.

“Sundermount?”

“Yeah. Sundermount.”

“The clan I was first to stayed up there for some time. Varric told me you were from the Free Marches, but I don’t remember you. I’m sorry,” said Merrill.

Wren scuffed a foot through the snow. She shouldn’t have said anything.

“My clan visited yours a long time ago. I remember your vallaslin,” said Wren.

“Oh. Well, I’m honoured you remember me,” said Merrill.

Varric was watching their conversation with barely contained curiosity. There was an eager gleam in his eye that made both Wren and Merrill shiver.

“So your clan stuck around Kirkwall for a bit? Ever run into this handsome dwarf?” asked Varric, puffing himself up.

Wren shook her head.

“Didn’t stay that long.”

Merrill frowns, then Wren sees the realization in her eyes. Fen’Harel take her if she was going to have this conversation right here, upon meeting Merrill, out in the snow.

“What say you we all go get something warm at the tavern before being subjected to the storm that is our advisors?”

Wren turned to lead the way, but caught Varric’s muttered ‘You wish you would be caught by the Seeker’s storm’.

Wren stiffened at that. Her heart still belonged to Cassandra despite the fact that if Cassandra caught her off guard or if someone surprised her with her title or name, Wren would go back to seeing those dark dead eyes and the bloody line of her severed neck.

Quashing her nausea, Wren glared at Varric. He raised his hands in an amused apology.

“Are you part of Clan Lavellan then?” asked Merrill.

“When did all this happen? How could I have missed meeting the fabled Herald of Andraste in her youth?” grumbled Varric.

“It wasn’t really anything to drag you and Hawke along at the time, I’m sorry. By the time it was Clan Lavellan had moved on,” Merrill said placatingly.

“What do you mean ‘by the time it was’?” asked Varric.

Merrill gasped a little and put her hands over her mouth. Her big round eyes fixed on Wren in worry.

“Ir Abelas! Ar tel’unsulevan,” squeaked Merrill.

Wren shook her head. There was no need for the apology. One day she’d tell everyone. One day. Instead she decided to change the subject.

“Varric, did I ever tell you it’ll be my nameday in a couple weeks?”

Varric grinned, and by the scheming light in his eye, Wren had best look out for her liver.

They arrived at Haven’s gates in a better mood all around, with Varric regaling Merrill with stories of Wren, and Wren with stories of Merrill. According to Varric Merrill had once single-handedly taken out a handful of Tal-Vashoth on the Wounded Coast without so much as batting an eye. Merrill was quick to correct him in saying that Hawke had taken out the qunari, and that she was mostly trying not to die, but it was very nice of him to try and make her the hero.

Meeting the advisors did not go overly well. Merrill stumbled her way through a half-elvhen-half-human formal greeting with Josephine, could not meet Leliana’s eyes, and squeaked with recognition when she saw Cullen.

“Don’t worry Daisy. He’s changed,” said Varric.

Merrill looked unsure, but offered her hand and a pleasant greeting.

After that it was smooth sailing. Wren let the advisors trip over themselves and the politics before suggesting it was high time she made her way to the Storm Coast to see about the Iron Bull and his Chargers.

“We need as much help as we can get against this Elder One,” said Wren when both Cassandra and Cullen made faces.

“Hold on a minute, who is the Elder One?” asked Varric.

Everyone in the room turned to Varric like he had grown a second head.

“What?”

“We had a little trouble at Redcliff, and found out a little more about the giant hole in the sky,” said Wren.

“I miss all the fun stuff,” grumbled Varric.

Wren forced a smile. If Varric had been there, he would not have found it fun. But he would have most likely been spared remembrance of the event like Sera and Cassandra had.

“You won’t have to miss the next one, Varric. I was hoping you’d come with me to recruit some mercenaries. They’re probably the only ones who will like your jokes,” said Wren, voice going from wobbly to strong before she finished.

Varric looked to Merrill, who was settling the green shawl about herself in twists and folds, creating a hood from the fabric and leaving the ends to trail past her knees after she’d secured it with a golden cord about her waist. Merrill’s big green eyes were glancing between the humans in the room warily, though her posture betrayed no nervousness.

“I’ll get back to you on that one,” said Varric.

Wren understood. He wanted to make sure Merrill was comfortable enough for him to leave her alone in this town full of strangers. At least there were no Templars here to drag her to a Circle, but if Varric’s books were true, blood magic would be an issue. Even among the Dalish blood magic was uncommon and frightening. Possession and abominations were a danger for every mage, it was true, but it was ten times more the risk for blood magic.

“I would like to set out tomorrow, maybe the day after if there’s more to prepare. I’ve been getting things ready over the last few days,” said Wren. “If you had an answer for me in the morning that would be the best.”

Varric nodded his assent.

“I think I’ll show Daisy around this little town a bit, introduce her to everyone before letting her get to work.”

He took Merrill by the arm and led her out of the room.

“It was very nice meeting you all,” Merrill called over her shoulder with a wave as they swept out of the room.

“For all that I think I’ve left Kirkwall behind, there seems to be an awful lot of it in Haven,” said Cullen dryly.

“That’s the thing about the past: it haunts you,” quipped Wren before she realized she was bantering with Cullen.

Wren’s cheeks flushed and she looked away. Joking with a Templar! This would never have happened a month ago, but then Cullen did seem a better sort than most Templars.

Talk then turned a bit awkwardly on the makeshift school of magic that Madame de Fer had taken on with great enthusiasm. At least Wren hoped it was great enthusiasm, it was difficult to tell when the woman in question was very akin to an ice sculpture. There was still a lot of skepticism among the residents of Haven about the influx of mages, and quite a few fearful complaints, but according to the formal penned report from Vivienne the mages were improving quickly and the initial conclusion was that there was little fear of any of them falling prey to a demon.

It was a suitable place to leave off before the journey to the Storm Coast. The others could decide on their own about sending someone to deal with Varric’s complaint about a hack writer popping up in Kirkwall and a request to help stop feuding nobles in Orlais. Both were things Wren was not particularly interested in dealing with. Though she was rather curious about the hack.

There was no more news from Clan Lavellan either. This worried Wren. She did not like to think that the clan faced danger while she sat in the mountains in a country across the sea. They were not helpless without her, but most of Wren’s life had been dedicated to protecting the clan any way she could. There had already been sorrow while she was away and Wren didn’t know if she could handle it a second time. By the Dread Wolf, if anything happened to the clan those responsible would feel the bite of her blade.

The journey out to the Storm Coast was uneventful. Varric did agree to join Wren’s party, much to Cassandra’s disappointment. She spent a lot of time making disgusted noises under her breath while in the company of both Varric and Dorian. The two took it in turns to rile up the Seeker in what was definitely a collaborative effort to make her explode. Wren was glad for the distraction as the weather turned fouler as they came closer to the coast. From time to time she did step in to rescue Cassandra, which turned into Varric teasing her. Dorian did not engage in Varric’s fun claiming Wren was Cassandra’s knight in shining armour. Every time it happened Dorian sent her a very pointed look, but did not speak. Wren supposed he had questions after all. He had been there in the future with her when the kiss had happened and knew about Wren’s very real affections for Cassandra. It was probably difficult for Dorian to try and piece together their relationship when the one he had seen was romantic and the one he was witnessing was a very one sided attraction.

They arrived at the Storm Coast during a thunderstorm. Fitting. Wren was drenched even with the oiled cloak the Inquisition had supplied her with. The coast was known for being treacherous, and with the tall mountains that dropped suddenly into the sea, Wren could understand why most ships would avoid the area. Their brief stop at an Inquisition scout camp revealed a very chipper despite the weather Scout Harding. The little dwarf gave them a brief rundown of what she had found in the area, and what to look out for. Wren was shivering, feet horribly damp in her boots, and was dreaming of the dry and warm inside of her family’s aravel. It did not look like she was going to get a chance to climb into a tent and dry off however, the Iron Bull and his mercenary company were camped a little ways away near the beach.

“Do you have any information about the Iron Bull or his company?” asked Wren.

“Not very much. The Iron Bull is kind of intimidating to a little dwarf like me. They’re good though, saw them take out an entire gang in minutes. Think that was what their job was?”

“Who knows? I can ask for you if you’d like,” said Wren.

Somewhere behind her Varric sneezed rather loudly.

“Oh no, it’s all right. Would be mighty nosy of me.”

Wren shrugged. “Is there anything warm to drink?”

“Not right now. It’s been hard keeping a fire lit when everything around here is soaking wet,” said Harding apologetically. Thunder rumbled in the distance as if agreeing with her. “Be careful out in the storm, Herald. Wouldn’t want you to be struck by lightning.”

Wren thanked her and set off for the shore. She was nervous about being so near the ocean, but after the trip into the future the thought of the water was not quite as frightening.

The waves were a lot more impressive than Wren had thought. The swells reached up for the sky before crashing down on the rocky beach, dragging smooth stones out into its depths. Wren decided to keep a healthy distance between her and the waves. Wren almost didn’t spot the mercenary crew at first between the raging waves and the noise of the storm. The reason why they did draw her attention was the din of swords that could be heard even over the sea and the sky.

The mercenaries were tangled up with a group of bandits, or maybe they were rogue Templars. Wren couldn’t tell who was who in the confusion of blades and battle. The only one she was sure about was the hulking qunari smashing people left and right with a battleaxe that was definitely bigger than Wren and probably twice as heavy. With it he made short work of his attackers. The mercenaries’ numbers were less than what Wren had imagined, but still enough that they would prove a formidable opponent when the Inquisition needed skilled swords.

The man that Wren had spoken to briefly in Haven some time ago came trotting up with the qunari on his heels. The qunari came forward and Wren took a step back. Creators he was massive, and made of muscle, which was hard not to notice when he wore no shirt. Wren’s throat tightened as the qunari’s hand rose, but instead of going for the handle of his massive axe he simply scratched at his neck. One eye sized them up, the other hid behind a large patch that failed to conceal scarred flesh. The giant reached out a hand in greeting, and to Wren’s surprise she found herself blocked by her three companions.

“Uh, hello, you must be with the Inquisition, huh?” said the qunari.

“Yeah, that’s the one I met, Chief,” said the human.

“How do we know you are who you say you are?” asked Cassandra, her accent thick with suspicion.

Wren sighed, and put a hand on Cassandra’s shoulder both to calm her and subtly shift her away from her protective position.

“I did meet him in Haven,” explained Wren. Varric might have lowered Bianca at her words, but he hadn’t disarmed the crossbow.

“I’m the Iron Bull, and this is my Lieutenant, Cremissius Aclassi,” said the Iron Bull with a gesture towards himself and the man. “Glad you could make it.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Iron Bull,” said Wren, very aware that her companions all had a hand on their weapons.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” said the Iron Bull in a low voice before turning to Cremissius. “Are the throatcutters finished?”

“Already done.”

“Check again, I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards popping up again. No offense, Krem.”

“At least a bastard knows who his mother is, right? Puts him one up on you qunari,” said Krem in a singsong as he went about his duties.

If this was the way the Iron Bull’s lieutenant acted with his commander the Bull’s Chargers might just get on in the Inquisition. There was an easy camaraderie about the mercenary group that was easy to fall into. The Iron Bull lead her and her companions a little ways from the mercenaries so that they might be out of earshot, though Wren noticed the lieutenant keeping an eye on them.

“So, how much is this going to cost me, exactly?” asked Wren. Might as well be up front about it. That was the way of Clan Lavellan: find out the asking price before any niceties, then haggle them down with pleasantries and/or pity.

“It won’t cost you anything personally, unless you’re buying us a round of drinks. Your ambassador, Josephine, we’d go through her.”

“How do you know Josephine?” asked Wren.

“Krem met her in Haven. She wrote me a letter. Pretty penmanship but the gist of it was that she would be the one to handle our payments if we wanted to join up.”

“That’s a relief. The Chargers seem like an excellent company,” said Wren, moving into the pleasantries part of negotiations. Even if Josephine was handling paying the Chargers, Wren could do her part to ease the strain on the Inquisition’s purse.

“They are, but you’re not just getting the boys, you’re getting me. If you need a front line bodyguard, I’m your man.”

Wren nodded, but beside her Cassandra bristled.

“She already has one,” said Cassandra icily.

The Iron Bull looked from Wren to Cassandra. After a moment he grinned a thin, knowing grin.

“So, they actually let the fabled Herald of Andraste out to play.”

“What else would I be doing?” asked Wren, adopting the ice from Cassandra.

“I figured whoever is running the show would keep you close. You’re the symbol of the Inquisition, and the only reason they have the influence they do. You die out here, the Inquisition loses everything,” said the Iron Bull with a shrug.

It was true. Wren was the only one who could close the rifts. Though maybe Merrill could help forward Solas’ work on researching the veil enough for them to find a way to close the rifts without the mark.

“I don’t come out here, the rifts don’t get closed, and we’d be up to our ears in demons. Even you, tall as you are,” said Wren.

The Iron Bull laughed. “I bet if they cooped you up you’d just bite them.”

Wren grinned a toothy grin. Her sharper elvhen teeth gleamed in the dim light of the storm.

“There’s one more thing you should know. Might be useful, might piss you off. You ever heard of the Ben-Hassrath?”

“I know only a little about the qunari. So no,” said Wren.

“It’s a qunari order. They handle information. They’re spies basically, or well, we’re spies,” said Iron Bull. “The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the breach. Magic like that could cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition and send reports on what’s happening. But I also get reports from Ben-Hassrath agents. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people,” explained the Iron Bull.

“Great. Another shady shit joins the Inquisition,” muttered Varric under his breath. The Iron Bull appeared not to hear him. Wren casually stepped on his foot.

 “Whatever I am, I’m on your side. Someone needs to get that breach closed,” said Iron Bull. He had heard Varric.

“What will be in these reports you send to the qunari?” asked Cassandra, ice still in place. Wren had the feeling that Cassandra was not happy with the idea of a qunari spy in their ranks.

“As long as you let Leliana look over every report you send. Anything she doesn’t approve does not go out,” said Wren. She didn’t know what to police.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

So concluded negotiations, and the Iron Bull led the way back to his company. Wren was nervous about having a spy in their midst, but at least the Iron Bull seemed honest enough. The Chargers too appeared genuine and kind. Not like some of the companies that Clan Lavellan had run into on the road. Those men had seemed like a hard, greedy lot, but the men and women of the Chargers were smiling and welcoming to the group. That was probably the best advocate for the Iron Bull’s character right there. Someone passed Wren a skin of mead and a handful of nuts from the Chargers’ supplies and Wren happily accepted. The mead was warm in her belly, and the others all sighed with relief when she passed the skin around. At this point she was starting to lose sensation in her fingers and toes. The damp rain persisted and the storm was drawing closer.

“My boys and I have one more part of the job to complete, if you’re interested in tagging along,” said the Iron Bull.

“What’s the job?” asked Dorian, hostility open in his voice. “Killing more Tevinters?”

The Iron Bull shifted his eye over to Dorian, taking in the Tevinter beneath the thick oiled cloak. The hood made it hard to see Dorian’s face but Wren knew he would not hide his heritage for long. He was far too proud.

“I could start with you I suppose,” said the Iron Bull.

Varric quickly stepped between the two of them with his best scolding face on.

“Hey now, we’re all on the same side, or so I thought we just agreed. Let’s not start killing each other yet.”

The Iron Bull shrugged his massive shoulders.

“The job is clearing out a bunch of bandits here on the coast. Most are from Tevinter, trying to prey on anyone leaving Fereldan trying to escape the hole in the sky. The last big camp is in this area.”

“So we find the camp, get the bandits, then we leave this damp misery. What are we waiting for?” said Dorian.

Wren was tempted to say they would wait for the storm to stop, but from the sounds of it overhead they would be dealing with the weather for at least a few more hours, if not the rest of the day. The damp would cling to her for days, and most likely they’d all end up sick from the cold, but there would be plenty of time to relax at Haven, where there was a roof overhead and a warm fire in the hearth. With a weary sigh she agreed to help them find the camp and deal with the bandits.

Moving around the coast was no picnic. There were very few trails of any kind, and simply walking along the beach was out of the question when often the shoreline would be interrupted by a jagged cliff that dropped straight into the sea. They spend their time scrambling up slippery rocks and hunting for animal trails through the thick underbrush.  At least the Chargers are capable of being quiet as they advance down the coast. Wren was pleased to see they would spread themselves out without needing it commanded by the Iron Bull. The only one who kept close to Wren’s group and the Iron Bull himself was the lieutenant. The rest set themselves up in a wide cresent shape as they covered the terrain. A few scouted ahead, and a few stayed a few minutes behind to watch their backs. It was a very different experience than travelling with only three other companions. Wren felt safe in this group.

They came upon the bandits’ lair without much fuss. The Iron Bull and Krem used hand signals to bring in the Chargers. The bandits’ lair was a few buildings inside a ring of spiked logs nestled in a narrow gully. Excellent for defence; it had only one way in or out. It would be a deterrent to a smaller force, but for the Chargers and Wren’s companions, it would be only too easy.

And easy it was.

The Iron Bull himself knocked down the gates and lead the charge. Wren barely had time to draw her sword and do much with it before the fight was over. A couple of the Chargers were wrangling despondent mabari into muzzles while the rest of them wiped their blades or collected arrows.

“You know what to do with your sword, I’ll give you that,” said the Iron Bull. “But what’s with the spinning?”

Wren preened with the compliment. It was a big difference from the criticism that Cassandra and Cullen had offered at the start of this mess.

“Spinning gains momentum, easier to smash through armour,” explained Wren.

“Oh I have got to try that out!” said the Iron Bull with a grin.

“I would like to get out of the rain. Are we done talking? Can we go back to camp now?” Varric whined.

Cassandra groaned. “Fine.”

Varric smirked and began whistling a jaunty tune as they began the slow trek back to camp. They took a different route, and this time they travelled all together. Overhead the sky rumbled loudly, making it impossible to hear anyone without shouting into the rising wind. Wren eyed the storm overhead nervously as lightning lanced at the trees on the mountainside with impressive noise and light. They walked in a line that changed as the Chargers dropped back or scurried ahead to talk or trade jokes. Before long Wren found herself walking with Krem and Cassandra. She and Krem had been discussing the fate of the captured mabari when Cassandra join them on Krem’s other side.

“Why bring the mabari and retrain them at all? A dog is not as good as knowing how to wield a sharp blade,” said Cassandra.

“A sharp blade is all well and good, My Lady, but a mabari can take out a man or his horse before you have to draw. They’re expensive too. A well-bred pup goes for more gold than any normal person’s got. They make good scouts too. Silent, and no one looks twice at a dog in the woods.”

Wren instinctively glanced around. The forest of the coast was on their right as they walked atop a rocky outcrop that allowed them to pass three abreast. To Wren’s left was a steep drop to the ocean. The waters below pounded into the rock, the pullback foamy and rapid before a fresh wave hurled itself at the land.

“I don’t see why they all have to have their ears cut,” said Wren. It did nothing to help the boxy look of the breed’s face.

“Best as I can tell it’s so that they don’t get them all ripped up when they’re fighting. Better to do it when they’re too young to remember than by another dog or a sword on a battlefield,” said Krem, shrugging.

“The poor things!” gasped Cassandra, before artfully rearranging her face into polite indifference.

Wren smiled. Maybe she would see about having one of the captured mabari retrained for Cassandra. She opened her mouth to ask how the retraining was done when the sky opened up and a bolt of lightning scorched the rock right in front of her. Wren squeaked and jumped back. Her right foot missed the edge of the rock, the left got a weak hold before the rock gave way beneath her. Wren looked up to see Krem and Cassandra reaching for her before she tumbled away towards the waves.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ar tel’unsulevan - the best translation I could make for "I did not mean to"
> 
> Well, I meant for this to be a quick chapter, and indeed it went very quickly, but life got in the way big time when this chapter got to about 3000~ words and it was hard to get the will to write for a few weeks. But it is indeed almost over. One more chapter. I hope.


	14. Chapter 14

There was a moment of sickening nothing. Time stopped as Wren whistled through the air, seeing nothing but the raging sky overhead. The moment she hit the water time sped up. Wren couldn’t move fast enough, couldn’t get enough air, couldn’t find the surface. Her armour weighed a thousand pounds as it dragged her down into the black. Anything could be waiting for her down there, she had to get out. She had to find land, but her hands and feet met nothing but the water around her.

Wren could hear her heartbeat hammering in her ears. Her lungs screamed for air but she was powerless to get it. Without warning she slammed against something rough and hard. What little air she had left her lungs in a rush and Wren gasped at nothing but seawater. Whatever it was she slammed into caught at the fabric of her clothes and the links in her armour. She struggled against it, desperate to get away. Again the waves slammed Wren against the hard surface and this time her head made its acquaintance. Her struggles slowed as her mind was swept away by a dark haze.

Wren thought she heard her brother. In the darkness she could see Ëonwë’s golden hair and his matching eyes. She reached up one weak hand, and lost herself in the darkness.  

Cassandra watched, frozen, as Lavellan fell. The lightning had caught them all off guard. Krem had slipped into her when the lightning struck, but Lavellan had been on the other side of the soldier and had jumped the other way, right over the cliff. Cassandra watched as Lavellan’s wide puple eyes frantically sought hers right before she disappeared over the edge.

“Lavellan!” the scream was out of her mouth before she could stop it and lost in the deafening thunder.

“Chief! Halt the line!” Krem’s voice carried through the storm.

Cassandra rushed to the edge of the cliff and looked down. The waves smashed against the cliff without so much as a hint of where Lavellan hit the water. Her fingers were on the buckles of her armour before her mind caught up with the action. She threw her armour aside in a mess of straps and buckles on top of her sword and shield. The rain and wind sunk their teeth into her without the armour’s protection. She was scanning for the best place to dive. Antony had taught her how to spot the rocks when she was young, but the waves made it difficult to tell.

A hand on her arm broke her thoughts.

“Seeker, you can’t just jump in after her,” said Varric, worry on his face as he looked past her to the rippling ocean below.

Cassandra almost hissed at him, instead settling for her usual grumble at the dwarf.

“She can’t jump in alone anyway. I’m a strong swimmer, and it’ll take two of us to reach the shore in this weather,” said Krem, already out of his armour and boots, standing ready at the edge of the cliff.

Cassandra nodded at him, drew in a breath full of air, and dived. It only occurred to her half way into her dive that there could be hidden rocks beneath the waves. Thankfully, she hit none. In the muted underwater world she registered Krem hitting the water a moment after her. Cassandra kept her eyes open despite the sting of the salt water. What was a little pain for ensuring the safety of her Herald. Her Herald. Cassanda’s heart tightened at the thought. The little elf had grown on her far more than she had thought before she was faced with the very real possibility of losing her.  

There! Out in the dark expanse of water something glimmered. Something metallic. Either Cassandra had spotted the treasure from an ancient wreck or Lavellan was over there. Three quick strokes brought her close.

There, floating in the water looking for all of Thedas dead, was Lavellan. Cassandra hesitated, had she failed? But then she decided that Maker damn it she was going to bring back the Herald one way or another and seized Lavellan under the arms and dragged her upwards.

Breaking the surface was like breaking out of a dream. Thunder rumbled overhead but Cassandra had no time to think about the consequences of lightning and water. She shifted Lavellan in her arms to get at the straps of her armour before the weight dragged them under again. Lavellan’s head rolled limply against her shoulder. Through the water-dark hair Cassandra could see the red of blood, but by the Maker’s blessing she felt breath ghosting against her neck. She grit her teeth and her nearly-frozen fingers scrabbled at the buckles of Wren’s armour. Thankfully she saw Krem bobbing amongst the waves.

“Lieutenant!”

He turned towards her, and began cutting though the tumultuous waves with powerful strokes.

“Help me with the straps, we must get the armour off,” Cassandra ordered.

Krem did as he was told with quick efficiency. Cassandra realized he had simply cut through the leather straps with a small knife.

“Shore’s that way. Chief’ll meet us there with blankets and a healer,” Krem pointed northwards.

“I will take the Herald,” Cassandra called back.

The swim back was difficult and tiring, though Cassandra barely noticed much beyond the limp body in her arms. The brown tattoo on Lavellan’s face had never stood out so clearly against her skin. Even her freckles seemed darker. Lavellan’s lips were purpling with every new wave that crashed over their heads. Krem lead the way admirably. He kept within arm’s reach and made sure Cassandra was right behind him at regular intervals. After they rounded the side of the cliff the shore was in sight. As Krem had said, the Iron Bull was waiting with a handful of others. Dorian was pacing the shoreline with his eyes glued to the water. Whatever Lavellan had done in the future had earned his loyalty. Cassandra missed the moment he spotted them, but the next time she looked he was waving his hands and shouting, though the words were lost in the storm.

The feel of slick rock under her feet was a gift from the Maker himself. The loss of the buoyant water, not so much. Cassandra threw one of Lavellan’s arms over her shoulder, and Krem did the same on her other side. Together they struggled against the uneven footing of the barnacle-laden rocks.  The Iron Bull waded out to them, and took Lavellan in his big arms. Cassandra made a noise of protest, but the Iron Bull ignored her in favour of striding back to the shore like the waves were no more than the gently ripples of a pond.

By the time Cassandra made it to shore she was exhausted, but worry kept her going. Dorian was kneeling next to Lavellan, hands over her chest alight with magic. Varric hovered behind him, uncharacteristically quiet and a worry line growing between his brows.  The Iron Bull had gone back to help Krem, but Cassandra made her way to Lavellan’s side.

“Will she be alright?” asked Cassandra.

“I’m no healer, and she’s bloody freezing to death. Honestly I should have known, meeting as we did, that something like this was bound to happen,” Dorian’s voice was loud and high, the words tumbling out with bite.

Cassandra gently took Lavellan’s hand. If only she had been a little quicker, or insisted they wait out the storm. The elf had grown on her in the weeks since they had met, enough that Cassandra cared a great deal for her. Without thinking she brushed the damp hair from Lavellan’s face and let her fingertips trail over her cheeks. She glanced up at Dorian.

“We must get her back to camp.”

“I’m trying to warm her up without setting her on fire, it’s a little harder than it looks and requires a lot of concentration.”

“Iron Bull, do you have healers in your company?” barked Cassandra.  

“One, he stayed behind with the boys who needed him at the bandit’s camp. I’ll get some of my people to bring them back to your camp,” said the Iron Bull, now with Krem tucked under his arm and wrapped in someone’s extra cloak.

“We move for the Inquisition camp. We cannot be too far,” said Cassandra in a tone that brokered no arguments.

Varric set his jaw in an ugly way, but kept his mouth shut. Shaking his head, he started for the path. The Chargers followed after him. Cassandra nodded to Dorian and he released the magic, allowing her to gently scoop Lavellan into her arms. It was only when she went to stand that Cassandra’s body reminded her it was exhausted. Too damn bad for her legs, Cassandra managed to get to her feet through sheer determination. No way would the qunari take Lavellan from her again.

The short hike to camp passed in a blur. Cassandra was only aware of Lavellan; the way she burrowed her face into Cassandra’s neck, the cold of her body, the smell of salt water clinging to her damp hair. If this was one of her books she could just kiss Lavellan awake and all their problems would be solved. There would be none of this Maker’s damned rain pelting on them either. Cassandra would kill for a warm bath and one of her books. Instead she found herself ushered inside a rather large tent that had been set up in the camp. She saw Krem disappear into another before the tent flap closed. Good. He needed to warm up and rest.

The tent was huge. It was easily big enough for the Iron Bull to stand inside, and for at least ten of him inside. Towards the centre was a fire, a bedroll, and a man. The man had been crouching by the fire, but stood when Cassandra entered. He was tall, dark, and obviously Ferelden.

“I take it you are the healer?”

“Name’s Stitches, least that’s what the boss calls me. Put her down there and I’ll take a look,” said Stitches, pointing at the bedroll.

Cassandra gently placed Lavellan down on the bedroll, frowning as it was instantly soaked beneath her. She stepped back to let Stitches examine her, but stayed close enough to make sure he could do her no harm. She watched as he took her pulse, looked at her pupils, and checked the wound on the back of her head. He washed it out and dabbed a poultice into the wound. Seemingly satisfied, Stitches leaned back on his heels.

“Well?”

“She seems all right. Head wounds can be a nasty business, but I think she only scrambled her brains a little. Probably will wake up soon. I’ll see about getting some dry things in here. I’ll be about the camp if you need.”

Cassandra nodded at the man, and he ducked out of the tent into the rain. Now that she was alone, she sat down heavily next to Lavellan. Her shoulders ached from the swim and carrying Lavellan. For a minute she closed her eyes and followed the breathing pattern one of her instructors taught her years ago: In for five seconds, hold for five seconds, out for five seconds. She remembered it all these years as a way to collect herself, rather than as a way to give herself time to think before replying too rashly. She would always be quick and temperamental, no amount of training could beat that out of her.

On the bedroll, Lavellan shifted. Cassandra turned her attention to the elf immediately, waiting for another move. Colour had returned to Lavellan’s cheeks, thank the Maker. She had shifted closer to Cassandra in her sleep, no doubt seeking whatever warmth she could find. It dawned on Cassandra that Lavellan was only a few years older than she had been when she had become the right hand of the Divine and had only a fraction of the training. Although some of her first words to Lavellan were that she could promise no protection, Cassandra had vowed to herself that she would keep Lavellan safe at all costs. At first it was simply because of the power of the mark, but now Cassandra couldn’t imagine life without the elf. She was skittish and prickly, but her smile was light and her stories were almost as good as the ones Cassandra kept tucked under her mattress.

Someone, an Inquisition soldier most likely, dropped off fresh clothes and bedrolls and left without a word for which Cassandra was grateful. She was too tired to exchange pleasantries. Cassandra quickly stripped off her wet clothes and donned the fresh shirt and hose. It was no hot bath but with the fire in the tent warming the space it felt nearly as good when in dry clothes. She then turned her attention to Lavellan.

It was hard work, forcing limp and uncooperating limbs out of wet clothes. There were a few choice words in Navarran muttered in the process and enough frustration that Cassandra decided to not bother with redressing Lavellan and just leave her in her underclothes. Cassandra did try to preserve Lavellan’s privacy by averting her eyes. She did try. But the trail of freckles dusting over Lavellan’s collarbones led straight down. The warrior in Cassandra was pleased to note the developed muscle tone, but something else stirred in her at the soft curves of Lavellan’s hips. Cassandra shook her head. Lavellan would not like it if she knew Cassandra had seen her in such a state. Though the thick scar that scored Lavellan from hip to ribcage, only a few inches from her bellybutton, drew a few questions. Cassandra huffed and gently maneuvered her from the wet bedroll to one of the dry ones and tucked her into the blankets. Then Cassandra pulled the other bedroll over and climbed in it herself. Her trainers always said that the best way to warm up a cold comrade was body heat. Many threats of her body being sent to the Mortalitasi had ingrained the lesson into her head. Cassandra had no idea about actually cuddling the elf however. She was almost naked! If this were one of Varric’s books… Cassandra’s face flamed at the idea of her and the Herald of Andraste engaged in such acts. By the maker Lavellan was the Maker’s avatar in the world, and she was a woman. Cassandra had never considered women before, and certainly never anyone as young as Lavellan before. Regalyan had been all she had needed, but she had not spoken to him for several years before promising to meet him at the conclave. She had been late, having to bring Varric with her. He had been perfectly on time, and now he was gone.

Lavellan shifted again. Cassandra cursed herself for forgetting that she was supposed to be warming her up instead of dealing with feelings. Feelings didn’t matter at this point. Lavellan was the priority. She hauled the small body into her arms, thankful no stray elbows found their way into her gut. After some rearranging Cassandra found it quite pleasant. Lavellan was cold against her, but Cassandra’s clothes prevented the worst of it from getting to her. Actually the elf fit rather well. The two of them had muscular figures, and Lavellan was just small enough to fit perfectly into Cassandra’s side with her head tucked under her cheek. Lavellan still smelled of seaweed and the points of her ears tickled against Cassandra’s shoulder, but the sound of the storm lessening into rain and the crackle of fire made the moment seem a comfortable eternity.

 Without thinking she began to run her fingers through Lavellan’s hair. Outside someone laughed at a joke, but they seemed so far away. Perhaps Cassandra was simply exhausted. It would explain why she felt the need to press a gentle kiss into the top of Lavellan’s head. Yes, that was definitely it.

Wren woke up warm, which was surprising considering how she did not think she would wake up at all, or if she did it would be somewhere very cold and very wet. Someone warm was cuddling her, which was nice. The hand running through her hair was soothing and careful to avoid the really painful spot just at the back of her skull. She could drift off to sleep to the sound of the rain lulling her with its harmonies and sighs. Then she felt lips press into the top of her head, so light Wren could believe that it was only her imagination, but the arms holding her in place said otherwise.

Her eyes flew open, to be greeted with the odd sight of shoulder. She must have made a noise or moved because whoever it was relaxed the grip, allowing Wren to push herself upright. Wren had to blink away a wave of dizziness before looking back down to find Cassandra. Cassandra had been cuddling her. Cassandra Pentaghast had been petting her hair. Cassandra Pentaghast, Nevarran royalty and the owner of Wren’s heart had kissed her and neither of them was about to die in a horrifying version of the future. It took Wren about five seconds to come to this realization, and in those five seconds Wren could feel the blush growing from her collarbones to the tips of her ears.

“Oh uh,” said Wren, cursing her lack of eloquency.

“I am glad you are awake,” said Cassandra, sitting up herself.

Hard eyes watched her as Wren fiddled with the hem of the blanket. Tension wrapped around Wren as she waited for some sort of admonishment or snide comment. Instead, a gentle hand came up to cup her cheek. Wren blinked and the hand was gone.

“Go back to sleep. We are leaving for Haven in the morning,” said Cassandra. She lay back down in the blankets, shifting around on the hard ground to find somewhere comfortable.

Wren’s thoughts whirled in her head. Admittedly she kept circling back to the press of lips in her hair, but that had been a pretty stellar moment so it was reasonable. But it was also the problem. Cassandra was being so gentle. It wasn’t like Wren didn’t like it, but that she was used to the gruff mannerisms that Cassandra had displayed before. Outside the tent laughter rumbled and Wren finally made the connection that they were back at camp.

“Wait, how long was I asleep for?” asked Wren.

“A few hours. The Iron Bull’s healer said you will be fine,” said Cassandra. There was something in her tone Wren couldn’t identify.

“How did I get out of the water? Don’t tell me you went jumping in after me.”

“I did. So did Lieutenant Cremissius. You should thank him in the morning, he was quite brave.”

“I shouldn’t thank you?”

“I never said that!” exclaimed Cassandra, before sputtering and backtracking. “You misunderstand I was simply informing you that he helped rescue you. Next time be more careful. I did not think you would need someone watching your every step but clearly you cannot handle the task of self-preservation.”

The words had bite to them, but Wren had been on the receiving end of similar conversations with her mamae and her Keeper enough times to know that the words were harsh out of worry. Cassandra huffed and crossed her arms. It was almost cute, if Cassandra’s face wasn’t so hard or her arms so well-muscled. Wren waffled. Adorable wasn’t quite right either.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you dived into rock infested waters after me. I don’t know what the Inquisition would do without the mark. I suppose Solas could work something out eventually,” Wren trailed off, musing.

“That is not what I meant,” said Cassandra.

Wren tilted her head, waiting for Cassandra to continue. Her purple eyes searched Cassandra’s dark ones but they gave away nothing. Even though exhaustion was creeping over her Wren’s nerves tingled with hope. After a minute it became apparent that Cassandra was not going to continue.

“What did you mean?” asked Wren quietly.

“It does not matter. Go to sleep. We travel in the morning.”

Cassandra lay back down in the bedroll, pulled the blankets up to her chin and shut her eyes. Wren knew she’d get nothing more if she pressed and decided to bring it up when they were safely back in Haven.

The next morning saw the two of them awakening in a tangle of limbs. Outside the tent was the sound of the camp waking up: cook fires crackling and the unmistakeable ear-grating scrape of a wood spoon in an iron pot. The sound of boots in mud was also unmistakeable, but the lack of conversation made it clear that it was still early in the day.

It was the pot scraping noise that had woken Wren. She came into awareness slowly, cursing whoever invented iron pots. It was deliciously warm beneath the blankets, and they seemed to hold her in a tight and cozy way. Which was fine by Wren, the pillow she had her arms wrapped around was incredibly comfortable. It was also breathing. Wren’s eyes shot open and she was greeted with the lovely sight of Cassandra’s chest. Wren wiggled as delicately as she could out of the Seeker’s arms and into the cold air of the tent. In the daylight filtering through Wren could finally see how big it was. Most of Clan Lavellan could have fit inside. She gazed around the tent hoping to see some spare clothes or her armour; being practically naked didn’t bother her too much but the Storm Coast was a lot colder than the Free Marches. Cassandra’s clothes were by the embers of the fire. Wren picked them up and was happy to find that they were only a little damp. Hopefully Wren could find a spare set of clothes from someone in the camp before Cassandra woke and found her clothes gone.

The camp was quiet under the pale dawn sky. A few birds twittered overhead with the morning gossip, definitely chattier than the handful of scouts and Chargers that were seeing about breakfast. Wren didn’t spot Varric or Dorian around the camp. They were probably still sound asleep. The Iron Bull was awake however, along with a few of his mercenaries and his lieutenant. The group was gathered around a cook fire that had delicious smells coming out of it. Wren wandered over. She had to thank Cremissius anyway, she may as well try and get breakfast out of it. She was starving.

“The mighty Herald awakes,” announced the Iron Bull as she approached. Even seated on a log he still had about a foot on Wren.

“Good to see you up and about. That was a nasty fall you took,” added Cremissius.

Wren turned her attention to him.  He was almost invisible sitting next to the Iron Bull.

"Good morning, Iron Bull, Lieutenant," said Wren.

"Please, call me Krem. I don't like all that fancy title garbage."

"Krem then, I was told you helped rescue me yesterday. That was very brave of you, ma serannas," said Wren with a slight bow.

 

Krem went pink under his tan skin and stammered, while the Iron Bull tried (and failed) to contain his laughter. The other Chargers seated around their fire snickered.

"It wasn't like I would leave you in the water. I hardly did anything compared to the Lady Seeker."

"You jumped off a cliff into stormy waters after me. That's a lot."

"But you're the Herald of Andraste! It's not like we could have left you to drown," said Krem.

"All right, Krem, the pretty elf said thank you, accept it. Boss, want to join us for breakfast?" asked the Iron Bull with a grin. He had noticed her sneaking glances at the pot.

"I'd love to," said Wren, thrown off a bit by the 'Boss' nickname.

She pulled up a seat on the edge of the log on the Iron Bull's other side and was handed a bowl of porridge that smelled like the gods themselves had made it. She took a bite without bothering to cool it down first, and was left gasping when it burned all the way down her throat without Wren ever getting a taste, much to the amusement of the Chargers. The Iron Bull handed her a skein of water which Wren downed quickly. The next bite was more cautious. She blew on it a few times before popping it in her mouth. It was definitely porridge, but spiced with something both sweet and hot. Someone had thought to stir in honey as well. The result was delicious.

"What is in this? It's amazing," said Wren.

"I get spices delivered when I get my reports. I find that the farther south I go the less people care about the food that they eat. I cook for my boys from time to time. Good recipes from Par Vollen and Seheron. I like watching the new guys eyes water the first time they taste it."

Wren couldn't imagine the Iron Bull fitting in a kitchen, let alone cooking.

"Don't let him bully you into eating it. Hold out for the cakes," said Krem.

"Especially the chocolate ones!" said one of the Chargers to loud agreement.

Wren couldn't help but grin at their enthusiasm. Cake, or what humans defined as cake was a rare thing in Clan Lavellan, but Wren loved it. She made a note to convince the Iron Bull to use the kitchens at Haven as soon as possible.

A familiar clearing of the throat made all of them look up. Cassandra stood before them, arms crossed and brow furrowed. Even in the simple tunic and leggings and without any armour or her sword Cassandra was intimidating. Or at least the Chargers seemed to think so. All of them immediately sat up straighter with confused but guilty looks in their eyes, even the Iron Bull. Wren just took another bite of the porridge. No doubt Cassandra was here to drag her off, and she wanted to enjoy as much of breakfast as she could.

"Herald, we should prepare for our departure," said Cassandra.

 "Can I finish my breakfast? It's really good," asked Wren. Maybe the knock to her head had knocked her silly. She then held out the spoon. "Here, try it."

Cassandra's frown deepened, but she took the spoon from Wren gently. Her eyes lit up as soon as she tasted it and zeroed in on the pot. Without saying a word Krem ladled her a bowl of her own. Cheeks tinged pink, Cassandra sat on a rock to Wren's right and began devouring the porridge. She said nothing of Wren borrowing her clothes.

The porridge disappeared quickly, and they had left almost as fast. They left the Chargers behind to make their own way. The company was big enough that they would slow down the trip. Dorian was practically glued to Wren's side, even though he hardly said a word. It was like having a particularly clingy spirit following her around as Cassandra led the way back to Haven.

On the third night of their trek Wren took him aside under the pretense of getting more firewood. Cassandra sent her a worried glance, as she had been doing any time Wren left her sight and while Wren was delighted with the attention, she was more than capable of handling herself, even if her brains had been rattled around a bit.

She led Dorian just out of earshot of the camp before turning to face him. He had a face like a thundercloud: dark and ready to explode.

"What is this about?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"You've been ignoring me, but you're practically attached to my hip."

"Are we out here for some Dalish ritual? Do I have to get naked and dance in the moonlight? Because while I might have a perfect body I don't show it off for just anyone," said Dorian, angry beneath his determinedly flippant posturing.

"Dorian," said Wren in warning.

"Or maybe its a sacrifice to your gods? Do mages get you extra?"

"Dorian, stop."

"Why? Am I getting warmer?"

Wren practically growled. Dorian was trying to make her angry and it was working. She was ready to haul back and slap him, but something in his eyes stopped her.

"Is this about my fall?" asked Wren without fire?

"You call that a fall? A fall is something ladies do when they forget to hem their dresses and trip. A fall is what happens when you roll a little too far in bed. Off a cliff, that was not a fall."

"What was it then?"

"A fine way to court death."

Wren sighed and sat down. This was going to be a long conversation. Or a tiring one. She patted the mossy ground next to her, but Dorian looked like she had just horrifically insulted his grandmother.

"It was an accident, why are you mad?"

"You appear to have very little appreciation of your own self-worth. And not to say you aren't the most important person in the Inquisition, because you are, as little as you might understand that, but you are my friend. And I find myself rather short on friends at the moment. You don't even consider what you'd leave behind do you? The world would miss me for my good looks and intelligence, oh they'd mourn for days. But you have the key to closing the breach in your hand. If you die they won't even get a chance to mourn before the veil tears and all the demons in the fade descend."

"Oh."

"Oh is right. Besides, I'm far to pretty to be an abomination."

"Indeed."

Silence lapsed between them. It was comfortable, but a thread of tension still wound around them. Wren shifted. She knew that her ability to close the rifts was why the Inquisition valued her, and that she had the tendency to end up in the most ridiculous situations. The breach needed to be shut as soon as possible. Her fall had shown her that.

"I've decided," she began.

"Decided what?"

"When we return, I close the breach."

"I'm not sure you understood me," said Dorian, but Wren cut him off by standing up.

Brushing off her pants she started off towards the camp. "Come on. The others should be wondering where we are by now, and I should tell them the news."

Dorian had no choice but to follow, any protests he might have voiced fell on deaf ears.

Their return to Haven was late. The moon was already high in the sky, blocked by thin clouds. The village was asleep, only a few sentries on the wall greeted them with quiet calls. Wren snagged one and directed them to bring Leliana and Cullen to the chantry as soon as possible. The woman trotted off, happy to have something to do on an otherwise dull night shift.

Cassandra stayed with her, but the other two reluctantly made their way to their beds. Dorian worried at his mustache even as he made a scene about beauty sleep. Varric was lingering, but he already knew what Wren was going to say, so she had a feeling it was more to annoy Cassandra than stay for the meeting.

Cullen and Leliana joined them much faster than Wren had anticipated. Leliana looked unruffled. The only sign she had been relaxed was the absence of her hood. It was odd to see her bright hair shining in the candlelight. It made her look younger, the shadows Wren was used to seeing gone without the hood. Cullen on the other hand looked absolutely disheveled. Wren hid a smile. He looked absolutely ridiculous in his sleep pants and furred mantle with his hair half sticking up in tight curls. He yawned widely, blinking blearily at Wren.

"Is there someone knocking on the gates with an army?" he asked.

"No," said Wren.

"Then why am I awake?" Cullen groaned.

Wren shuffled nervously. What if they thought her incapable. Or worse, what if it worked and afterwords they decided that a knife-ear wasn't worth keeping around.

"I want to close the breach. Tomorrow."

Cullen's eyes went from bleary to bright, surprised into alertness. It was harder to tell, but the set of Leliana's jaw was tighter: she was surprised as well.

"I told her we should wait," said Cassandra.

"What happened on the Storm Coast proved we waited long enough. We should do it now before anything else happens," argued Wren. She had said it often enough on the way back. Cassandra wanted to wait. Every time was a different excuse: the mages aren't ready, Wren's head hadn't healed, Wren's skill with her sword and her sudden lack of one.

"I also think what happened on the Storm Coast shows that we need to take action now. Madame de Fer has been training the mages dutifully and believes in their ability. I agree with the Herald," said Leliana.

"You cannot think this reasonable! What about you, Cullen?" growled Cassandra.

"After reading the report on the Herald's accident on the Storm Coast I believe we should let her rest. However, closing the breach is our goal and every day we leave it alone new rifts appear."

No one needed to announce that it had been decided. Cassandra growled, turning on her heel and marching from the room. She let the door slam heavily behind her and Wren's gut twisted. After their moment in the middle of the night Wren had hope, but the anger on Cassandra's face had been entirely directed at her. Cullen awkwardly exited the room in Cassandra's wake, not even bothering to offer an excuse besides rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Don't worry," Leliana said as she took Wren's arm. "She's only concerned for you. You might not survive it, no?"

Wren swore Leliana could offer up the harshest words with the sweetest smile. She was nervous enough without Lelianas reminder.

Wren barely slept for what was left of the night. An odd mix of fear and excitement kept rolling in her stomach as she rolled around in her bed. She was so deep in her worry she missed the dawn creeping over the mountaintops and only realized it had come when the noise of the morning started up louder and more frantic than usual.

Outside soldiers and mages alike scurried around the village in search of equipment and food. There were no traded insults between the two parties, only tossed greetings and talk about what they were going to do when the world was saved. One mage was going to go find her sweetheart who farmed outside Redcliffe. A scout was going to go help fight slavers on the Tevinter border. Excitement was nearly tangible in the air, and every single soul in Haven believed that their Herald could close the rift.

Wren wished she believed in herself that much. The day passed in a panicked blur until someone handed her a shiny new sword, buckled on a set of armour, and practically threw her on a horse sometime in the early afternoon. Cullen and Cassandra rode beside her. Both of them looked like proper heroes. Wren was sure she looked like she was going to be sick. Behind her the makeshift army of the Inquisition spread down the streets, pressed wall to wall. Every face was turned towards her, waiting for her signal.

Wren looked to Cassandra, but she was pointedly looking anywhere but the elf with a scowl. Cullen was a little more encouraging, offering a sympathetic smile. Wren still didn't trust him, but appreciated the gesture.

She drew her huge sword from her back, thankful it was weighted heavily, and pointed the blade straight up in the air. A cheer rose from the crowd and Wren started forward up the mountain.  

The closer they got, the more the mark on Wren’s hand began to crackle and sting. It was as if it was trying to reach out for the giant hole in the sky. She clenched her fist to keep the light from drawing attention. Today she had to be the Herald, not Wren. She wasn’t a person today, she had to be the hero Thedas needed, and therefore she couldn’t show any weakness. The People were strong and brave, and Wren was one of them. She squared her shoulders atop her horse.

The trip to what remained of the Temple of Sacred Ashes was shorter than the frantic climb she had made when she first woke at Haven. The horses’ long legs and strong strides ate up the ground faster than Wren would have liked. She’d made her peace with wanting to close the breach, that didn’t mean she didn’t want to get there as fast as she had last night.

They left the horses just below the rise to the Temple. As they had drawn closer the horses had begun to get nervous, dancing and tossing their heads. Their nervousness wasn’t unexplainable, or rather Wren understood. The closer they got to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the more Wren felt like she was being watched. It was the tickle on the back of her neck without a breeze, and the crack of a branch when no animals had come near since the explosion. It wasn’t a warning, neither did it give off a sense of evil. Whatever was watching them was watching in anticipation.

Cullen gave orders to the soldiers to fan out around the perimeter. There were too many of them to have them in the Temple, but they were needed in case the breach began spitting out demons once more. He then directed the mages and the Inquisition’s few Templars into ranks circling around the breach’s centre, but far enough away that they would be protected from any immediate fighting.

Wren made her way down into the pit at the centre of the breach. Cassandra and Solas stayed behind her. Others had gone to fill in between the mages. Varric clapped her on the shoulder as she passed. He had no joke to share, his mouth pressed in a grim line. Sera waved from the opposite side of the pit, knocking the mages next to her, yelling something about killing the demon shite. Wren hoped no demons would be coming through at all. Blackwall was outside with the soldiers. Iron Bull and his company had just made it into Haven as they set off for the Temple, and chose to remain behind and get ready for whatever celebration came afterwards. Both Vivienne and Dorian stand among the younger mages, both towering over their charges. Wren smiled at the thought of Dorian trying to wrangle any child.

The crackle of her hand drew Wren’s attention back to herself. The mark drew the attention of Cassandra and Solas as well. Cassandra’s stormy face broke, and she turned to Wren.

“Herald, before you do this I should say something,” said Cassandra, eyes pleading.

“Mages! Focus past the Herald, let her will draw from you!” roared Solas, his usually soft voice echoing around the hollow remains of the Temple.

There was no time for anything else. Wren stepped away from Cassandra with an apology in her eyes. Cassandra twitched like she wanted to reach out, but instead fixed on her usual expression of strength and indifference. Wren fixed Cassandra’s face in her mind, and when she turned to face the breach she could still see it. This time as she walked into probable death Cassandra stood behind her, rather than in pieces on the Redcliff castle floor.

The air around Wren thrummed with magic as she walked forward to the breach. The mark vibrated in her arm, wanting to tear itself free and escape the pressure from the breach. It hurt all the way to the bones of Wren’s shoulder but she held out her hand anyway, using the other to brace it as she willed the breach to close. The magic drew close around her, then exploded out of her hand into the giant rift. It hummed loudly, growing brighter and brighter, until with a deafening bang the breach closed with enough force that everyone in the Temple was blown backwards off their feet.

Wren rolled backwards across the rough ground. Her mind was failing to process anything beyond the motion and the pain in her hand until she came to a stop thanks to a large stone in her path. She lay half against it, blinking up at the sky. She could see the stars beginning to appear in the sunset. Wren sat up straighter. She could see the sky! The breach was gone; the only reminder it had been there was a circle of green-tinged clouds hovering over the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

Wren turned to see what had become of the Inquisition, only to find Cassandra knocking people aside as she made a beeline straight for her. The Temple was still quiet in the aftermath, but cheers were beginning to rise: first from outside the Temple, then from within. When Cassandra finally landed in front of her Wren blinked up into her relieved face. She accepted the hand offered and allowed herself to be pulled off the ground and back into the reality of the moment.

“You did it,” said Cassandra quietly, almost reverently.

“I did it,” echoed Wren, a grin sneaking up on her as relief made her giddy. “I did it!”

She launched herself at Cassandra in a tackling hug and felt strong arms encircling her in return. Before Wren could stop herself she had planted a kiss on the Seeker in her arms. Cassandra froze and Wren let go quickly. A blush heating her face, Wren looked away, stammering out an apology before disappearing into the gathering crowd. As an escape it was a good one, everyone seemed to want to talk to her or touch her or thank her. As it was she didn’t see the blush in Cassandra’s cheeks or the way she touched her lips softly as she stared after Wren.

The party had already begun by the time Wren made it back to Haven. Music echoed over the valley and dancing had started up in the small square in front of the chantry. Sera came by with a mug of ale and tried to get Wren to dance with her, but Wren’s heart wasn’t in it and she only danced a few songs. Besides, she knew none of the steps to the dances that were being performed. It had been a while since she had thought of herself as being stuck among _shems_. Sera didn’t push her, and instead busied herself with slipping salt into drinks and tickling dancers as they passed by. Wren watched for a while, amused by the pranks.

She saw the others but didn’t speak to them. The only one who looked like they wanted to try was Krem, but he was drawn off by the Iron Bull and Varric, no doubt to trade interesting stories. All Wren could think about was the way Cassandra had stiffened against her. She shouldn’t have lost herself like that. What if Cassandra wanted nothing to do with her? Her friendship was invaluable, even if Cassandra wanted nothing to do with her anymore.

“Solas confirmed the heavens are scarred but calm.”

Think of the devil and she will appear. Cassandra had come up behind Wren without warning. She spoke methodically, delivering a report without much thought.

“The breach is sealed. We have reports of lingering rifts, and many questions remain, but this is a victory,” said Cassandra, finally softening into the woman Wren had begun to know between the hard armour and gruff personality. “With the breach closed we will need to focus this new alliance of mages and Inquisition somewhere else.”

“Do we really need to figure this out now? Let them celebrate for now. Creators know they deserve it,” said Wren. She couldn’t decide if she wanted Cassandra to go or stay.

“And you most of all. I have not seen you in the revelry yet.”

“I haven’t found the right dance partner. Or a song I know,” said Wren wistfully, chancing a glance over at Cassandra.

“I don’t know many of these dances either. I used to know some of the Orlesian waltzes, but I was never taught dancing like this. It looks like more fun than the waltzing,” said Cassandra as she watched a handsome soldier twirl Flissa around gracefully. Wren followed her gaze, noting the things that the soldier had that she lacked: strong wide shoulders, a handsome beard, and nearly a foot on Cassandra.

“You should go ask someone to teach you,” said Wren neutrally.

“I think I am fine where I am.”

To prove her point Cassandra shifted some snow off a nearby barrel and sat down. It was odd, being taller for once.

“About earlier, I’m sorry if I offended you. I was just so caught up in the moment, and you were there and you’re amazing,” Wren cut herself off sharply, burning from the tips of her ears to her collarbones.

Wren fixed her eyes on her boots. It was out in the open now, her attraction to Cassandra. Oh if only the breach had killed her and saved her the embarrassment of emotions. A gloved hand came up to cup her chin, gently tilting Wren’s head until Cassandra could look her in the eyes. Wren’s gaze went skittering away towards Cassandra’s ear.

“It is no offence,” said Cassandra. “It was a surprise, but not unpleasant.”

Wren felt a huge surge of relief for the second time that day.

“You aren’t angry?”

“I am not.”

“Then, if you’re not mad about the kiss, may I repeat it?” asked Wren shyly.

Cassandra crossed her arms, thinking.

“I do not think that would be wise. I need some time to think about it,” said Cassandra.

For once Cassandra was not listening to her rash nature, and Wren cursed that this is what she was deciding to stop and think about. It would hurt less, she supposed, if it turned out Cassandra’s heart wasn’t hers later if they never started anything in the first place. It was sensible.

“Take as much time as you need, but I will give you this,” said Wren as she slipped the symbol of Clan Lavellan over her head. “In my clan, when someone declares their intentions to court they give something that can be worn. Keep it until your heart can decide.”

Wren pressed the pendant into Cassandra’s hand, gently folding her fingers over it before she could hand it back. Cassandra turned it over in her hand before sliding it around her own neck. It looked right, sitting on top of her armour. Like Cassandra was Clan Lavellan’s godly protector. Wren smiled at the thought.

“It suits you.”

“Thank you. I will keep it safe,” said Cassandra quietly, before she stood.

She grasped for Wren’s hand, lacing their fingers together and staring up over the mountain to where the circular clouds reminded them the breach had been. Wren’s heart fluttered in her chest. This day had been more than she had ever anticipated. It was only after Cassandra had left, fondly brushing her cheek as she went, that Wren remembered it was her birthday.

 

 

 

In case anyone was curious as to what Wren looks like!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ITS THE END. FINALLY. I mean y'all know what happened 30 seconds after this fic ended. Pls just know Wren definitely tried to kick Corypheus in the face when he picks her up.
> 
> I know it took forever to get this out, like two fucking months, but life happens sometimes. (tbh I wanted to post this two weeks ago but then it was con weekend and nothing happened)
> 
> Big hug to Jesifish for being Wren's #1 cheerleader in the hunt for Cassandra's affections.
> 
> PS. I will definitely be making this a series. Stay tuned for more adventures of the elf and her attempts to love our prickly romance loving swordswoman


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